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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25890961">In Focus</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaudeZbornak/pseuds/MaudeZbornak'>MaudeZbornak</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American Politics, F/M, Fencing, Las Vegas, Mistaken Identity, Nude Photos, Oral Sex, POV First Person, Politics, Romantic Comedy, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Sexting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:03:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>79,039</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25890961</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaudeZbornak/pseuds/MaudeZbornak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It was an honest mistake.</p><p>Who could blame Rey for assuming the tall, handsome man arriving at her photography session was the nude model she'd hired? Who would guess, too, that this initial case of mistaken identity would lead to a riot at a Vegas casino, political intrigue, and uninhibited and sweaty sex, not necessarily in that order?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Armitage Hux/Rose Tico, Finn/Rose Tico, Kaydel Ko Connix/Beaumont Kin, Mara Jade/Luke Skywalker, Rey &amp; Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>223</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Rey - Don't Gawk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome to my first attempt at Reylo. This was a pansted story, not plotted. Any continuity errors are my own and may be edited over time.</p><p>A CW note: I began writing this story in August, 2020. A presidential election is a prominent part of the story. I wasn't expecting January, 2021 to happen as I finished it. I simply had a wild rom-com in my head that had to come out. Late in the story, there are brief mentions of sexual assault.</p><p>This is a dual first person POV story, switching between Rey and Ben. This is NOT a slow-burn, more like an insta-lust highway collision. </p><p>For those in it strictly for the super explicit Reylo sexy, the following chapters contain it:</p><p>Chapter Five<br/>Chapter Seven (Light phone)<br/>Chapter Ten<br/>Chapter Eighteen<br/>If you have enjoyed it, please check out my other Reylos:</p><p>Bra-vado<br/>Entwined (coming soon)</p><p>Thank you for being a friend<br/>Twitter: @maude_zbornak</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Rey discovers something the hard way.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <br/>
  <i>Cover by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/anopendoor/">anopendoor</a></i>
</p>
<p>My luck, I had to occupy the one photography studio in town that doubled as a black hole. </p>
<p>I had about one hour to complete this session in order to make my next appointment, and the model was late. Time ticked away loudly in my brain. I paced the perimeter of the small studio with my phone held high, then low, then panning the space in a wide arc. No bars blinked back.</p>
<p>Ray Hause, my major professor at Hoth, owned the place. His photographs have appeared in nearly every magazine worth reading. His four Pulitzers hang in grid formation in the adjoining bathroom - says it gives visitors something to look at while doing their business. He is a genius in every respect when it comes to photography. Choosing real estate is another matter.</p>
<p>He knocked on the jamb before entering and filled the room with his smoky voice. “Need anything at the quickie mart?” </p>
<p>“Bars.”</p>
<p>“Hershey's, Nestle, or Nature’s Valley granola?”</p>
<p>I held out my useless phone. “Reception is shit here. How can you work like this?”</p>
<p>He leaned in the doorway. “I usually spend my time taking pictures, not crushing candy. Relax, Artoo. The tweets and likes can wait.”</p>
<p>That’s how people at school tell us apart in conversation. Dr. Hause is Ray One and I’m Rey Two, or R2. Artoo. I may as well be from another planet with a name like that. “The model I hired is late, and I can’t get hold of him. I don’t know if he forgot or he’s blowing me off, and if he’s trying to get in touch with me the message isn’t getting through. Don’t suggest I step outside to check because I already tried that.”</p>
<p>“So come with me to the store. Call him from there.”</p>
<p>“And the second I leave he’ll show up to a locked building and think the shoot’s off, then he'll leave. No thanks.” Ray kept his studio nice and cool, but my frustration racked up the temperature several degrees. It was my own fault for hiring a model unknown to me, but I was desperate. The end of year show for Hoth’s graduate assistants was coming up and I needed to prepare my pieces. I’d have been ready days ago if not for a truck wheel rolling over the thumb drive containing the pictures I had not yet printed. No copies, either. Dumb, dumb, dumb. </p>
<p>I finished the nature shots earlier this week; today was devoted to the live model. Friends I normally counted on as subjects - my roommate Rose, her boyfriend Finn - had prior engagements. That had left me answering ads in the department newsletter from students willing to sit for beer money.</p>
<p>I think about it now, I’m certain my friends timed their romantic getaway to avoid posing nude for me.</p>
<p>Tick tock. Where was that bastard? Ben Something - making me so mad I couldn’t remember his full name. </p>
<p>“Artoo, you can have the studio all day if you like. You have plenty of time to get your shots framed before the show.”</p>
<p>I pocketed my phone and fiddled with my camera. It had been ready to go since morning. “I have to be somewhere else today, Ray.” My old sorority sister, Kaydel, was getting married later in the year and wanted engagement photos. I was to meet her and her fiance at the beach after this. I would be punctual.</p>
<p>“Fair enough. Hershey’s, Nestle, or Nature’s Valley?”</p>
<p>“One of each. And get more bug spray, please?” If only quickie marts sold window caulk. A small gap in the bathroom window across the entry hall had become a pass-through for wasps. One day somebody will walk in to discover a nest of the tiny bastards.</p>
<p>With Ray gone, I walked toward my setup. I’d purchased a short roll of chain link fence from a hardware store. The germ of an idea for a theme burrowed in my brain. I figured once the model arrived, it would bloom.</p>
<p>I’d shown work in student shows before, but I intended to make an impression with these photos. I hadn’t quite decided where to go once I earned my M.F.A. Hoth being one of the more prestigious art schools in the country, I entertained multiple options. Go into journalism like Ray One had done early in his career. Open my own studio. Take a gap year from life and travel, build a portfolio. Teach. Become an Instagram sensation.</p>
<p>The lights were long ago set up in place. Just as boredom tempted me to adjust them again I heard the loud snick of the main door opening and a deep, “Hello?”</p>
<p>Praise be everything divine. “In here, first door to the left,” I called out and grabbed my camera. “You’re late.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry.” The voice sounded contrite now, and closer. Could he move any slower and waste more of my time? “This place wasn’t easy to find. My GPS didn’t even register it.”</p>
<p>That hadn’t occurred to me. If Ray’s studio served as the Bermuda Triangle, it wouldn’t just be my phone affected. “Well, normally I’d dock some of your sitting fee, but seeing as you’re here now we’ll have to speed up our work. I trust you brought your--”</p>
<p>I turned toward the door to greet the unknown, untested Ben Something and lost my remaining words. <em>Tall</em>. First thing that came to mind, before <em>whoa</em>. Until this moment, we’d only exchanged texts. I never asked for photos - it didn’t really matter what the model looked like for this exhibit. I just needed a warm body to pose, but <em>this</em> body... </p>
<p>He nearly filled the doorway. Long legs in dark gray slacks. Matching jacket and nice white shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, pulled tight across a broad chest. Big hands that could palm a basketball. <em>You know what they say about hands like that.</em></p>
<p>“Are you Ray?” He looked uncertain, and his gaze flicked down at the business card he held. I didn’t hear him. My photographer’s sense was busy studying his features, his skin, that nice shock of black hair framing his long face. I was thinking of how I needed to adjust light and shadow to suit his height and… other assets, and soon I was the one wasting time.</p>
<p>Because I couldn’t stop staring.</p>
<p>I nodded. “And you are Ben,” I said once I grounded myself. “Now that we’ve established that, we can begin.” </p>
<p>I spied the envelope in his other hand. He must have seen, because he held it up in my direction. “Begin?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Our photo shoot. The reason you are here.” Where did this man come from? He definitely wasn’t a photography student. I’d have seen him roaming the department building since I’m there more than I’m at home. I guessed music major. The slow uptake demeanor coupled with that perplexed expression spoke to me of somebody preferring to lounge in bed with a bass guitar and a joint rather than suffer a temperamental, uptight G.A. like myself.</p>
<p>His mouth pulled down into a frown, like every word I said sounded foreign. “I’m sorry. I’m supposed to give you this--”</p>
<p>“Yes and thanks.” I snatched the envelope away and stuffed it in my back pocket. I required a signed release form from every model I worked with, certifying their permission to be photographed while nude and acknowledging their images may appear in public exhibitions and as part of my portfolio. This included a digital gallery on my website, but I’d yet to include any such work there.</p>
<p>At least he’d done this much, and saved me from having to give him a spare form from my purse. “As I implied, we’re well into our scheduled hour so I think this will move smoothly if we cut the chatter. You agree?”</p>
<p>He shrugged his answer, offering a crooked grin. Compliant or cheeky, I couldn’t tell. I’d decide later.</p>
<p>“Right.” I pointed to a wooden chair in the corner opposite my personal belongings. “You can undress there.”</p>
<p>“What?!”</p>
<p><em>For fuck’s</em>… Maybe it wasn’t the faulty GPS but the field of kush he’d smoked before coming over. “Take. Off. Your. Clothes! This is a nude shoot. You were made well aware of this when I texted you.” </p>
<p>“Uh, what--”</p>
<p>I narrowed my gaze. Submission achieved. He clammed up.</p>
<p>“If you’re having a sudden change of heart, you can shove off and forget about the hundred dollars I’m paying you.”</p>
<p>The mention of money perked up his eyebrows. At first Ben Something brought out his phone as though confirming our previous text conversation, but he didn’t turn it on. “Okay, boss,” he relented, and stiffened. “Cold in here, though.”</p>
<p>“Cold is energizing. We’ll get done faster. You’ll leave unscathed.”</p>
<p>He loped over to the chair. I swore I heard him say, “Too bad.”</p>
<p>A fleeting moment of guilt settled in my stomach as I turned my back and pretended to check my camera. At the very least I should have provided a screen for privacy, but in my prior experience with live models they all exhibited little to no modesty. Some, well aware of the typical grad student’s finances, brought their own robes to cover up during breaks. It was clearly on me if Ben Something felt unprepared in this respect.</p>
<p>“Okay, boss. I’m ready for my closeup, I guess.”</p>
<p>“Good. Could I get you to stand over--”</p>
<p>I turned to look at him.</p>
<p>Oh, how I looked. </p>
<p>Wide shoulders. Lean runner’s legs, tight arms, and his torso… what’s the word? Cut, ripped? If he did partake, he definitely worked off the munchies on the track or in the gym. If Rose were here, connoisseur of a fine male form that she is, she’d have whistled to wake the dead.</p>
<p>Despite the fine specimen label, he left on his boxer briefs and that wouldn't do.</p>
<p>I pointed to his crotch. “Those have to go.” I tried a placating tone, seeing the face of a frightened rabbit. </p>
<p>“You sure? You can’t shoot me from the waist up, or something?” The enormity of the situation hit hard for him, clearly. Naked. Camera. Photos. Pictures of dangly bits on a gallery wall for the world to see. “Maybe use a strategically placed plant?” He waved his hands to indicate his package.</p>
<p>I sensed a sudden dash for the exit coming, barefoot with his clothes balled to his smooth chest. My fault for not vetting a model better. Deadlines, promises to friends, and money problems weighed heavy on my mind, leaving me to assume any new people coming in knew to expect my recent disorganization. While Ben Something’s texts to me indicated a willingness to pose in the buff, I didn’t know if a passing moment of bravado encouraged an otherwise shy person. </p>
<p>He showed up, though. He was serious about this at least through the drive here.</p>
<p>“You see,” I told him, “this show is sort of a final grade for my degree. I’m submitting a portfolio after this show, and I have to meet specific requirements, one being at least one artistic full nude shot.” I gestured to the fence. “If you’re apprehensive about doing full frontal, you could oblige me with a look at your backside. What I was thinking --”</p>
<p>A series of short, sharp pings from my phone rattled me into silence. Miracle of miracles, the heavens parted long enough to allow Ray’s studio into this century. I held up a hand to beg Ben Something’s pardon while I checked the messages. If Kaydel wanted to postpone, all the better for us here.</p>
<p>My fingertips numbed, serving as a conduit for the mortification each word created, shooting straight into my heart.</p>
<p>
  <em>Hi, Rey, it’s Ben Stone. Was heading over when I got a flat. Car towed to shop, really don’t want to leave it. Can we reschedule?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>U there?</em>
</p>
<p>Then from Ray, who texted despite knowing I stood in a void:</p>
<p>
  <em>R2, forgot 2 say there’s a guy coming in 2 drop off some $$. Keep him there til I get bk pls? Could be a job!</em>
</p>
<p>The model who wasn’t my model, a man I’d apparently badgered into removing his clothes in a strange place, leaned in a bit, his features softened. “Something wrong?”</p>
<p>“You...came to see Ray Hause, the owner of this studio.”</p>
<p>“Yes. Are you not Ray Hause?”</p>
<p>“I’m Rey <em>Walker</em>. Dr. Hause is my major professor, and I’m borrowing the space...and you’re not Ben Stone, the model I hired.”</p>
<p>“I’m Ben Solo. My mother hired Ray Hause to take her official campaign portraits.” He pointed toward my waist. “That check is for him, who I thought was...you, at first.”</p>
<p><em>Solo</em>. Oh my glob. I knew that name.</p>
<p>I grabbed the envelope from my back pocket. The flap wasn’t sealed and I pushed with my thumb to reveal the corner of a bank check in the name of the account’s owner, Leia Organa-Solo. </p>
<p>As in Senator Leia Organa, presidential candidate.</p>
<p>Her son wanted to pay a bill and I barked at him to get naked. <em>And he did</em>. Almost. What was this timeline I lived in?</p>
<p>I looked back at him, focusing on his face. Not his body. <em>Don’t gawk</em>. “How did you not know Dr. Hause was a man, if he’s worked directly with your family?”</p>
<p>He shifted in place, looking uncomfortable to have a conversation while half-naked. He gestured as though undecided on where to put his arms. “Because I didn’t hire him, okay? My mother went behind my back on this one. She likes what he did and wants to retain his services, and I came here on the pretense of paying but I wanted to meet this Ray person. She only talked of ‘Dr. Hause.’ Gave me no pronouns to work with.”</p>
<p>Had he mistaken me for a D.F.A.? Flattering if so.</p>
<p>“He has four Pulitzers, you know. He’s quite renowned.”</p>
<p>His response came in the form of a blank look. Right. Famous in my world, perhaps. Photography and politics clearly didn’t intersect that deeply. </p>
<p>“Anyway,” he said after a beat, “do you still want me to take my underwear off?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Rey - Dear Penthouse...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Rey and Kaydel discuss the ethics of hanky panky during a professional shoot.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“How did you not recognize him? He’s famous.”</p>
<p>“He’s from a famous family,” I said. “Not necessarily the same thing. I'm sure there are Kardashians we’d fail to pick from a lineup.”</p>
<p>I licked away the coarse salt stuck to my lips. Kaydel and I sat at the patio bar of the oceanfront hotel nearest to where we’d parked. Never mind the name - all that mattered were the cold, tart margaritas with complimentary pretzels. I considered the drinks my reward for getting through the day. The lovely session with Kaydel and Beau took away some of the sting, and I was relieved he left soon afterward to attend to other business. I required alone time with my friend.</p>
<p>We perched on tall stools with our backs to the beach and blazing sun, its rays magnifying the heat of my humiliation as I told her the story. </p>
<p>“I’m not a political groupie, Kaydel. I mean, I know his name from seeing it in the news. I definitely know his mother. I voted for her in the senate election, and I will vote for her again because she’ll be an awesome president.” It’s not like Ben Solo was one of the most photographed people in the country, either. If ever I'd seen him in some form of media, from what I recalled, he was likely a few paces behind his mother. </p>
<p>In the background. What does one do in the background? Blend and become forgotten.</p>
<p>Only the man I met today...one hell of a standout. </p>
<p>“I can’t believe Ray photographed Senator Organa and said nothing to me about it. I’d kill to assist on a job like that.”</p>
<p>“He probably had to sign an NDA or something,” Kaydel said. “Okay, we’re getting off topic. Ben Solo’s half naked and asks about his underpants. What did you say?”</p>
<p>“Nothing. By that time Ray walked in. He saw the man covering his privates and turned completely white. You should have seen his face, like he’d opened the Ark of the Covenant. Mouth agape, no words.”</p>
<p>“Oh, lord. At least Dr. Hause recognized him.”</p>
<p>“Yes. After the longest five seconds of my life passed, Ray asked what was going on, and Ben Solo said he’d undressed because I’d demanded it of him. I said, well, why didn’t you clarify you weren’t there to model for me to start with, that you came to drop off a check? And he says…”</p>
<p>I sipped deep, savoring the splash of tequila-flavored slush. “He says, ‘I kinda wanted to see where this would go.’”</p>
<p>That caused Kaydel to spray out a mouthful of her drink.</p>
<p>“Yes, I suppose it’s funny to you.” Not to me. Maybe in a hundred years. “Anyway, Ray’s staring me down like I tried to burn down the place. I think I muttered an apology as I grabbed my camera bag and purse and ran like hell out of there.” I left my laptop, too, necessitating a return visit. Joy.</p>
<p>She howled out loud, banging the bar. Pretzels danced and tipped over the lip of their bowl. “No fucking way. He did it because you bullied him into it.”</p>
<p>“What?” I signaled for a refill. “The man comes from one of the most powerful political families in the country. He’s twice my height. He could bench press me.”</p>
<p>Kaydel shrugged. “Yeah, but I’ll lay odds the Pope is no match for you. When you wield your camera you become a dictator. Ordering people to bend this way and that until you get the shot you want.” She crooked her head toward the sea. “You about killed that poor old man, you know.”</p>
<p>“He was in the shot.”</p>
<p>“He had earbuds in and was concentrating on his metal detector,” Kaydel said. “No reason to yell and give him a stroke.”</p>
<p>Fresh drinks arrived and I downed mine by half in seconds. As brain freeze sent shards of pain through my frontal lobe I considered my friend’s accusation. I wouldn’t deny coming across as assertive at work. Even though I’d taken these beach pictures in lieu of a wedding gift, I approached the session with the same sincerity as with any class project or paid assignment. </p>
<p>Dictator, though? I called up the image of tall, nearly naked Ben Solo in my booze-addled memory. He’d seemed intimidated, yes, but I’d chalked that up to nerves, feeling exposed. I knew a few seasoned models who experienced jitters on occasion. Had it all been my forceful direction instead?</p>
<p>Kaydel’s snickering brought me back to the bar. “What?”</p>
<p>“Kinda wanted to see where it would go,” she echoed Ben’s jibe. “Dear <em>Penthouse</em>, never in a million years --”</p>
<p>“Shut up. And how old is <em>that</em> reference? The Internet killed <em>Penthouse</em>.”</p>
<p>She leaned closer. “What was going to be your answer?”</p>
<p>“To what?”</p>
<p>“You said he asked if he should take off his underwear. Let’s say Ray didn’t come back.”</p>
<p>I pushed away a clump of salt on the rim of my glass and called up the image again. Damn, but he looked fine. In the alternate, contemporary replacement for <em>Penthouse</em> version, were he interested, I’d have shed my own jeans and tee and scaled him like Everest. The raised outline of his boxer briefs indicated a nice-sized cock at rest, and cold is energizing...</p>
<p>Instead, I said, “I’d have told him he could dress.” I saw Kaydel raise her eyebrows and added, “I was in the wrong. I couldn’t very well photograph him nude without his written consent, regardless of who his parents are.”</p>
<p>“You had a warm, willing body there for your project. Plus release forms. You carry them everywhere. What stopped you?” Kaydel asked. </p>
<p>“I stopped me. I made a fool of a complete stranger, and in the process came out looking worse. In front of a person I admire and respect, at that. You think that's the ideal time to pitch a photo session to him?” I may very well have ruined a lucrative opportunity for Dr. Hause, I realized. I closed my eyes and let the tequila do its magic. Soon as I finished this ‘rita I wanted to no longer feel my face.</p>
<p>“Fair enough,” Kaydel said. “You still have to take the pictures, though.”</p>
<p>Don’t remind me. The actual model named Ben pleaded scheduling conflicts for the remainder of the day. That narrowed my window of opportunity further. I pondered my fate as I sipped. "What are you doing later?"</p>
<p>Kaydel leaned back. "Uh-uh. Beau would lose his shit."</p>
<p>"Consider it the groom's gift for the honeymoon."</p>
<p>"This isn't a private <em>budoir</em> session, Rey," she said. "Though you've given me a great idea."</p>
<p>I sighed. “I may resort to setting the timer for a few self-portraits then.”</p>
<p>“Will they count that?”</p>
<p>“Nothing in the guidelines says I can’t. Plus, you know what they say: tequila makes her clothes fall off.” I raised my glass, ready to test the theory.</p>
<p>The ringtone I set for Ray’s number chimed. “Fuck.” Third time since I dashed from his studio; well, third that I knew. I muted my phone during Kaydel and Beau’s shoot. “I have never been sorrier in my entire life,” I answered.</p>
<p>“That’s up for debate. Listen,” he said, “when are you coming back to finish your shoot? You left your laptop here.”</p>
<p>It relieved me that he didn’t sound mad, but that question stabbed me in the gut. I sighed. “Ray, I don’t think it’s happening. If I need to take extra classes in the summer term to finish up--”</p>
<p>“What’re talking about? Your model’s saying different.”</p>
<p>“What?” Who? I had the texts from Ben Stone begging off, and no alerts notified me of a change of heart. Who else…</p>
<p>“Oh, no,” I muttered.</p>
<p>“Hang on, Artoo.” Ray’s voice faded into background volume. Despite the blood pounding in my head, I heard with clarity my major professor instructing a third party to ‘figure it out with her.’”</p>
<p>Ben Solo’s deep voice came on the line. “Hey, boss.”</p>
<p>Heavy warmth nudged my side. During the course of this call, Kaydel had sidled close to eavesdrop. Silent joy lit her eyes. </p>
<p>“Mr. Solo. How can I help you?”</p>
<p>“Actually, it’s the other way around. I understand you still need a live model for your project, and I wish to volunteer my services. Poses. Whatever.”</p>
<p>Leveling my voice as Kaydel urged me on with wide eyes and excited nodding proved a challenge. I prayed to sound calm. “That’s very thoughtful of you, but it isn’t necessary --”</p>
<p>“Don’t you need this to graduate?”</p>
<p>“It’s more of an extra credit thing. I mean, the pictures go toward my final portfolio, but...” I sucked at lying. I’d considered a third year, anyway. Nothing urgent waited for me at the end of this academic year. “You know what, I’ll be fine. I had a Plan B in place anyway --”</p>
<p>Kaydel gestured like mad before. <em>The fuck you doing?</em> she spoke with her hands.</p>
<p>“With all respect, Ms. Walker, the impression I received from Dr. Hause indicates otherwise. I would feel responsible if you missed a deadline and were forced to delay finishing your degree.”</p>
<p>“You’re not at fault. Your car didn’t break down.”</p>
<p>“No, but I caused the confusion that got us here.”</p>
<p>How, by simply existing? By ceasing to blend? “Won’t this cause a problem with your mother’s campaign?” I asked. “I mean, your fully naked body on public display, and you didn’t seem keen on it earlier…”</p>
<p>“That’s only because I didn’t expect to strip while delivering a check. I have no hangups. And nothing connects my involvement in your project to my mother. She won’t lose votes over this.” </p>
<p>Kaydel snorted. "If he looks that good naked, she may win in a landslide."</p>
<p>I glared at my friend. When I offered no immediate response, he added, “You need somebody. I’m here now, and I have a signed consent form. Dr. Hause gave it to me, and I’ll waive the sitting fee. This is on the house.”</p>
<p>“Ask him if he’s wearing anything now,” Kaydel hissed in my ear.</p>
<p>“Shut up!”</p>
<p>“Ms. Walker?” he asked.</p>
<p>“I’m still here, Mr. Solo.” His offer tempted me. Paying the other Ben stood to tighten my finances for the month, and now I didn’t have to. In my mind, I’d already applied the hundred bucks to my pending margarita bill. “And I am grateful to have you pose for me.”</p>
<p>Kaydel did a fist pump. </p>
<p>“Great.” He sounded lighter. “I am ten minutes away from the studio.” </p>
<p>I listened a bit for background noise. Ben’s line gave no clues to his location, but I guessed he and Ray had ended up at my professor’s favorite bar. “Well, I have to wrap up a few things around here.” I eyed the remainder of my drink. “Let’s say one hour?”</p>
<p>“See you then.” His voice took on a sexier timbre at that, and he rang off. A sudden chill rippled over my skin.</p>
<p>“You’ll see plenty of him then, too.” Kaydel snickered. “You should totally have an affair with him.”</p>
<p>“Why?” I asked, expecting to hear “Why not?”</p>
<p>“Because I’m too in love with my man to stray at the last minute, and I want to hear another story from you that’s hotter than the one I just heard.”</p>
<p>I downed the dregs of my margarita, watered-down but no less potent. “Shut up and help me sober up for this,” I told her, and waved the bartender over. “Two coffees. Plus whatever she’s having.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Rey - Welcome to Everest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Ben Solo is naked for 90% of the chapter.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Once she realized she wasn’t getting access to a free quasi-celebrity peepshow, Kaydel rang for a rideshare rather than let me take her home. I used the remains of the hour to slip back into a professional state while researching my new subject.</p><p>To know Ben Solo, however, meant poring first over his colorful ancestry. We’re talking about a family saga worthy of a Netflix series. Mother Leia Organa-Solo personified the formidable matriarch in politics -- a woman raised in a life of privilege, the apple of her widowed father’s eye. Many can call themselves a Daddy’s Girl, but Bail Organa was no ordinary dad. Military hero, congressman, vice-president. Had he not perished in a small plane crash he most assuredly would have won the top office if he had run. </p><p>Leia easily took up the family tradition and won over her own constituents with her compassionate policies. Through every stage of her career she worked to assist low-income families and strengthen social services. She made enemies, naturally, mostly in Big Oil, Big Pharma, Big Nasty Elite. Neither the revelation of her true parentage - an abusive sire who signed away all rights to the infant Leia after her mother’s death - nor her marriage to a professional race car driver turned gambler tainted her reputation. Reuniting with a long-lost sibling, a twin brother at that, in the wake of it only boosted her image.</p><p>As for her son… I found little in the way of official biography for Ben. His LinkedIn profile listed his alma maters (Ivy League all the way, probably because of generational wealth) and one work listing: Director of Marketing and Public Relations for Organa 2020. A Wikipedia check yielded a paltry page with no further information other than an interesting sentence under the Personal Life subheading:</p><p>
  <em>Never married, Solo has been linked in the press to pop singer Phasma, though her spokespeople confirm they are not romantically involved.</em>
</p><p>Ooh-kay. So were they at one point? Keeping it on the QT?</p><p>Rather an interesting pairing, I thought, recalling how Ben had interacted with me earlier. Halting, wry, short sentences. I’d seen Phasma on late night interviews; she was a human supernova. </p><p>It seemed to me like he was born, became an adult the next day, then continued to exist purely for public speculation and to work behind the scenes on his mother’s campaign.</p><p>I called up the Images tab in Google search on his name. Turned out he was more of a celebrity than I’d assumed, given the search results. My phone exploded with a gallery of different Bens in sharp suits and tuxedos, brooding in nearly every shot while escorting a woman someplace. If not his mother or Phasma, then a leggy and lithe beauty straight from central casting. Nobody worth mentioning on Wikipedia, apparently.</p><p>I concluded the media appeared dead set on making Ben the new JFK, Jr. When -- not if, not for this lady -- Senator Organa ascended to the presidency, he’d reign as the country’s most eligible bachelor.</p><p>And he wanted to pose for my master’s portfolio when he obviously had more important options on his plate.</p><p>Why?</p><p>Moreover, why did the idea of this bother me? He hadn’t come off as awful. Brusque, maybe, but not rude. Last thing I wanted, too, was to incur the wrath of the senator and her party by photographing her only boy.</p><p>I paid my bar tab and tested my feet. The world didn’t sway, and I concluded I was okay to drive. I texted the other Ben that his services were no longer required. </p><p>All the way back to Ray’s studio, I considered my current state of annoyance and possible causes. </p><p>One: the last-minute model switch. While happening in my financial favor, it arguably took some control from me. I had chosen Ben Stone, after all, despite having never laid eyes on him. In my mind, accepting Ben Solo’s offer equated to giving him some kind of advantage.</p><p>What if he rebelled at my instructions? Changed his mind about going Full Monty? He seemed apprehensive before.</p><p>Two: He looked good. I wasn’t kidding about the Everest thing. I’ve always acted professionally at work, even with subjects who became relationships. Okay, relation-<em>ship</em> singular: one guy who thought himself a Greek god, and me just useful enough to create his modeling portfolio for free. Last I heard he was selling stock photos of himself for people to purchase for book covers. Whatever pays the rent.</p><p>I suppose my attraction to Ben bothered me; when he first entered the studio, it elated me to think I’d get to see this guy in the raw. He’d make nice fantasy wank material, and as I neared my destination I convinced myself to approach the job as such -- a fantasy. If ever I crossed paths with a man like this, it would occur on the periphery, snapping photos as he walked a red carpet with global dignitaries and giddy starlets. </p><p>Never hurts to look.</p><p>
  <em>You should totally have an affair with him.</em>
</p><p>He should totally be down with it. Heh.</p><p>Ben waited outside his car -- a Tesla, what else -- duffel bag at his feet and checking his phone. Same outfit as earlier, just a bit ruffled. No sign of Ray anywhere, which unsettled me for about two seconds. <em>Get it together. He’s not a serial killer.</em> I’ve used the space unsupervised many times in the past. This won’t be any different. <em>You’re in, you’re out.</em></p><p>Heh, again.</p><p>He looked up at my car door’s slam and smiled. “You ever been to Vegas?” he asked by way of a greeting. </p><p>“Not yet.” Kaydel’s maid of honor, Amylin Holdo, had booked us a long weekend for the bridal party there the very day our friend announced her engagement. We were going to the Canto Bight casino resort in the peak of summer, when temperature highs in the city surpassed the sun itself, mainly because the rates were cheaper. I looked forward to those three days of drink and debauchery and wicked sunburn.</p><p>“If you get there before I do, let me know if you find a good place for Colombian or Venezuelan food.” Gaze back on his phone, he scrolled a bit before pocketing it. </p><p><em>Sure thing, Guy Fieri.</em> “I’ll send a telegram.”</p><p>“Or check your phone.”</p><p>“What?” There it was, a notification stripe across my screen informing me that Ben had just sent a one-emoji text. </p><p>:-)</p><p>How about that? Reception in the black hole. Funny that it happened every time Ben Solo stood close. I wondered if I could leech free WiFi from his aura.</p><p>“Ray Hause gave me your number. I apologize if you mind,” he said. “I figure it’s easier to talk directly than having to pass notes across the classroom.”</p><p>“Why’s that?” Holy fork. I had his phone number. Literally one degree of separation from the future president. If anything, I possessed bragging rights to trot out next time I went out with the girls. “I suppose it’s okay,” I played it cool, “though I don’t usually have much to do with models once the shoot’s done.”</p><p>I unlocked the studio and he followed me inside. “I may decide I want copies. Wallet photos for the family.”</p><p>“Oh, of course. We do all kinds of swag. Phone covers, coffee mugs, vinyl wrap for your car.” </p><p>“That’ll look great in the inaugural motorcade.”</p><p>I glanced back at him. His expression softened despite his dry humor. My own apprehension subsided a bit. “What’s in Vegas that requires South American cuisine?” <em>Stop kidding yourself</em>, my conscience chided. Canto Bight booked Phasma for a summer long residence. Every date sold out while our group debated getting tickets.</p><p>“The party’s national convention. I plan to crave arepas then.” He unslung the duffel from his shoulder and pointed in the direction opposite the space where we first met. “That the bathroom?”</p><p>I flipped up light switches as we walked, and nodded. “Be out in a bit,” he said and disappeared.</p><p>My setup was as I’d left it earlier. While Ben readied, I grabbed a large backdrop stand and moved it front and center. Ray made it with PVC pipes and elbow joints, with two small hooks at either end to hang screens. I hoped they were sturdy enough to hold the fence.</p><p>Ben’s voice sounded deep behind me. “Need help with that?”</p><p>Prepared this time, I turned, and bit my lip on seeing his black belted robe. I couldn’t say what he read in my reaction but he added, “I know it has to come off. I just don’t want to freeze to death in between takes.”</p><p>“I won’t keep you long.” My camera had exceptional battery life and I’d used the WiFi feature to transfer Kaydel’s pictures to cloud storage, leaving plenty of memory for this. “If you want to hand me your robe, we can get started.”</p><p>“You weren’t kidding about the Pulitzers.”</p><p>“Nope.” I stepped back and willed the fence to stay in place, so I didn’t see him shed his cover. The terry cloth felt soft and warm, draped over the arm I’d held out, and I caught the faintest hint of something...indescribable. A laundered freshness slightly overpowered by a unique scent. His scent. I nearly brought the robe to my face for closer inspection when he asked where he should stand.</p><p>Then I saw him. All of him. Tall and tight and pale under the light of the closest umbrella. My mouth dried before the words came and I took a deep breath. <em>I am a professional.</em> One could appreciate an attractive human form without succumbing to lust. </p><p>I bit my lip, thinking of Mount Everest, then Mount Kilimanjaro, rising like Olympus something something bless the rains down in Africa. I shook away the memory of Kaydel’s <em>Penthouse</em> taunts and found my voice.</p><p>“We’ll start with the fence while it seems stable.” Focus on the prop helped. I explained my idea to Ben, who went along willingly. Being a smidge taller than the stand, he knelt before the fence and stretched his arms upward, curling his fingers around the chain links for the effect I wanted. A rapid succession of shots followed, with Ben keeping up well with my directions.</p><p>“I’m going to pull a muscle in my neck,” he warned.</p><p>“One more with your head tilted back, please? Perfect.” I held the shot in my viewfinder for a few seconds longer, admiring the line of his jaw on down his throat. Then lower.<br/>
All the way. </p><p><em>What a nice looking cock</em>. Had to be said. Thought. I don’t internally sexualize my subjects, but damned if I sometimes forget how long it’s been.</p><p>And realize how easily I could take one step and reach for it through a gap in the fence.</p><p>“You done?” he called out, pained. “My leg is cramping.”</p><p>“Oh, glob. Yes.” I tugged at the fence. With the next series of shots I intended for the shadow of the links to fall across Ben’s skin. “Let’s take some from the back. Turn this way, please.” <em>Clickclickclick</em>. “Terrific.”</p><p>I predicted a long night ahead of me sorting through the night’s work, deciding which three of the series to retouch and print. My stomach then grumbled rather loudly, and I realized the passage of time.</p><p>“I heard that,” Ben said, as though impressed. “Have you eaten?”</p><p>“Yeah. Pretzels. Two hours ago.”</p><p>“I’d say you burned them off a while back. Let me buy you dinner.” He reached for his robe, like he assumed we were done. That feeling of lost control clouded my mind again.</p><p>“Wait first. There’s one more thing I want to do. I still didn’t have a seated shot. Using the stool or a chair didn’t appeal to me -- such poses lacked variety, and assuredly others in the show had shots like that prepared. I looked for a wide enough space along the white concrete walls where Ben could lean back, his long legs stretched before him.</p><p>I clued him in and hurried to the bathroom. “I’ll get some paper towels so you don’t have to sit directly on the floor,” I called over my shoulder. I’d Photoshop them out. All the while, I tried to recall if Ray had left a spray bottle in the bathroom, thinking I could fill it and create an effect so Ben looked like he was perspiring.</p><p>Yes. A portrait of sweaty, sexy exhaustion.</p><p>Not two steps through the door, though, an angry buzz near my left ear interrupted my thoughts. The sting sent me squealing out in pain, anguish that echoed in the small chamber.</p><p>“Hey, you alright, boss?” Ben sounded far away. I clutched at my wounded ear after slapping away the wasp. It was probably more surprised by my attack, apparently; it blurred across my line of vision and hit the floor. When Ben arrived, covered and panicked, I was too busy stomping my assailant to death to reply.</p><p>“Leave it,” I said, near spitting on the dark stain stuck to the tiled floor. “I want the other wasps to see the corpse and know we don’t fuck around here.”</p><p>Ben’s placed his hand over mine, trying to pry it away. “Let’s take a look at it.”</p><p>“It hurts.” No lie. Imagine the sharpest of tiny teeth taking a nick at you, sending a slow stream of pain out from ground zero.</p><p>He turned on the faucet with his free hand and dampened a paper towel. “We have to clean it up and get the venom out. Are you allergic to stings?” I shook my head. “Let me see it,” he insisted.</p><p>I yielded to his touch, and to his credit he didn’t prod at the point of contact. The stinger wasn’t there, but Ben said he noticed a tiny dark dot from which redness seeped over the outer shell of my ear. “If you had to get stung, this probably wasn’t the worst place,” he said, and laid the wet, folded paper towel over my ear. “Keep this on. Do you have any baking soda?”</p><p>“There’s a small kitchen in the back. Check the fridge.”</p><p>Ben left and I took the moment to check myself in the mirror above the sink. I looked a fright with my dark hair in a frizzed halo. To my credit, the dim lighting did nothing to improve my appearance. The dark blue tiled walls closed in on me, and I wondered at the potency of the wasp’s venom when Ben returned with a wet wash rag and a small paper cup.</p><p>He sat on the lidded toilet and beckoned me close. “The baking soda will help draw out the venom and reduce the itching. Later on you should put on some hydrocortisone and take an antihistamine, just in case.”</p><p>“There might be one in the first aid kit --”</p><p>“Then we’ll look, but come here first.” Without waiting for me to comply, Ben tugged me at the waist and set me on his lap. I turned toward him but he pushed the side of my chin with two fingers, giving him access to my wounded ear.</p><p>His other hand, holding the cup, came around me and settled on my thigh. I sat like a chastened child while he dabbed the paste on the sting. I sucked in air at the touch -- strictly from the pain, definitely not his proximity.</p><p>Ben’s voice rumbled low and quiet. My hearing worked just fine. “Funny how the smallest of things bring severe pain,” he said. “A bee got me in the arm once when I was ten. I learned from Boy Scouts that wet tobacco helped neutralize the pain and swelling, so I ran to my dad’s study and used a cigar. Turned out it was a Cuban.”</p><p>This time when I turned he didn’t stop me. His smile was infectious and I returned it.</p><p>“So the severe pain was the spanking that ensued?”</p><p>He shook his head. “Oh, he was mad, but he garnished my allowance instead. I mowed the lawn every weekend until I earned back the fifty bucks.”</p><p>“He likes cigars that much?”</p><p>“More of a point of pride. He won it against his best friend in a poker game. Never got to smoke it.”</p><p>He fell quiet, and I lowered my gaze. Sometime during the urgency of tending to my wound, the belt around Ben’s waist came loose. The slight movements we made had caused his robe to open wider and expose his bare flesh. The combined scent of Ben and whatever he used to launder the terry cloth dizzied my senses and I swayed.</p><p>“Whoa. You alright, boss?” he asked, and the arm around me stiffened to support my weight and pull me closer. I may easily have nestled my head against his collarbone had he not repeated the question and broke the trance.</p><p>“I’ll be fine,” I managed to say. “I guess I’m too focused on the pain.”</p><p>“You should eat. Pick the place, and I’ll get dressed.”</p><p>I nodded and requested some privacy to freshen up. It meant breaking free of his hold, however. He helped me to stand and I caught a soft glow in his dark eyes that made up, somewhat, for the heat lost when he let go. “You’ll be alright?”</p><p><em>Kiss to make it better?</em> But he was already out the door, closing it behind him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Rey - Vanilla With Sprinkles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which an indecent proposal is made.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Many thanks for the feedback and kudos. It is my goal to add chapters every few days. It seems steady now because I had six chapters done before the first post. Here's to keeping up the pace.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I expected to return, so I locked my cameras and laptop in the studio. I settled into the passenger seat of the Tesla, marveling at the interior and all the neat features. Ben looked amused at my perceived wide-eyed wonder.</p>
<p>“No need to be too impressed. This is the cheapest model, and pre-owned.”</p>
<p>“Still...it’s more than what I have.” I glanced at my decade-old VW, bought used. “I’ve never ridden in an energy efficient car before.”</p>
<p>“I figure, working in politics, I contribute enough to polluting the planet. This should even things out. Where to?”</p>
<p>Since no place in town served arepas, I suggested an empanada truck that set up permanent digs in the parking lot of a half-occupied strip mall. The owner cordoned off one corner near the highway with six wooden picnic tables. Multi-colored outdoor lights hung from thick cords strung along the truck and over the dining area. There was a line when we arrived -- nothing new -- but plenty of seating. I held a table while Ben ordered. </p>
<p>Even in the casual act of standing in line, with the jacket gone and his sleeves folded up to his elbows, he maintained rigid posture. I wouldn’t say stiff, like he wanted to be somewhere else, but alert, aware of his surroundings. Perhaps life with public figures as parents had taught him constant vigilance around people. It’s something I learned myself, being a single woman in a popular beach town on the East Coast. The krav maga classes Rose and I took helped there.</p>
<p>I saw him relax when he reached the window and spoke to the young woman with the order pad. She handed him the drinks and watched his retreat with apparent interest, the one thing that seemed oblivious to him at this moment.</p>
<p>He took the bench opposite mine and held forth two dewy bottles and a short stack of plastic cups. “I couldn’t decide. Want to make it easy for me?”</p>
<p>“I love them both,” I said, indicating the blood orange and pineapple hard ciders. “Depends on what you ordered.”</p>
<p>“One of each, plus dessert. I thought we’d split.” He held up a flimsy plastic knife drawn from our wrapped cutlery. “Assuming this thing will cut.”</p>
<p>“So let’s split the drinks, too.” I took a cup and he opened the blood orange first. “She was supposed to give you a pager to pick up the food.”</p>
<p>“Huh.” He quirked his lip. “She said she’d bring it out.”</p>
<p>Of course she did. And one strap of her tank top <em>just might</em> slip down her shoulder as she set both baskets in front of Ben and asked if he wanted any condiments, all the while ignoring me. </p>
<p>Rather than press the issue, I sipped from my cup and trained one eye on the truck.</p>
<p>“How’s your ear, boss?”</p>
<p>“Hurts like hell.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he said.</p>
<p>“Don’t be. You didn’t sting me.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but I could’ve gone for the paper towels. You had enough to do setting everything up; it’s not worth suffering a wasp attack.” He pulled from the opened bottle, then passed the wet glass across his forehead. He gave off a heavy-lidded expression of relief. Would’ve made an awesome shot. “Nobody cares if a glorified lackey gets drilled.”</p>
<p>“Who’s a lackey? Aren't you part of your mother's campaign?"</p>
<p>"Director of Marketing. It's something to put on a business card."</p>
<p>"You’re working to get a woman elected president. I can’t imagine there are any small jobs there.”</p>
<p>He shrugged. “Ninety percent of what I do is babysitting. We have a team of people who monitor all the social media, respond when appropriate, and map out a posting schedule of everything my mother puts out. I make sure nobody does anything stupid, like accidentally post something personal or pornographic on one of her accounts.”</p>
<p>“So, your mother doesn’t tweet herself?”</p>
<p>“She did, at first. Even the job of running for president takes all your time. Personally, I don’t know how some people spend all day on their phones. It’s why I don’t have Twitter.” Ben glanced over his shoulder. A Spidey-sense moment, I surmised, like something was off. I scanned the outdoor dining area; two groups of three and four occupied tables on the far side of the cordoned lot, and nobody looked our way. </p>
<p>From around the corner of the truck, the young clerk strode toward us with our food. The presentation happened pretty much as I’d predicted, with the woman bending low to show off ample cleavage. “Anything else I can get for you?” she said, lashes batting and eyes trained right on him.</p>
<p>“Looks great, Camille. Thanks.” He caught my reaction after she left. “What?”</p>
<p>Everything I thought of saying -- how I’d been eating here for two years yet never knew her name, how Camille had earlier leaned so far out of the front service window to gawk our way that she might fall, how the hunger in her eyes flared -- I kept in the vault. It wasn’t for me to behave like a jealous girlfriend, yet my own attraction to Ben fostered the desire to mark my territory. It didn’t help that Ben’s attitude of familiarity encouraged me so.</p>
<p>Instead of piling that drama on his lap, I asked him, “Why do you keep calling me ‘boss’?”</p>
<p>Ben gripped the side of one red plastic basket and sawed the first empanada with the paper-thin knife. “I don’t know. Because you’re bossy?” He punctuated that with a wink. <em>Zing</em> went the heart strings. </p>
<p>“You’re the second person to make that observation today. Do I really turn into an ogre when I pick up a camera?”</p>
<p>“I never said that. There’s nothing wrong with being bossy. Assertiveness is an admirable quality.” Ben successfully halved all the empanadas without destroying them. Enticing aromas of chicken, pulled beef, cheese and spices wafted upward with the steam.</p>
<p>“Is it attractive, though?”</p>
<p>“My father would say yes. We don’t agree on everything, but I’d side with him on that.” </p>
<p>Good to know.</p>
<p>“What got you into photography?”</p>
<p>I gave Ben a TL;DR version of my life story as we tucked into dinner, napkins lining our respective spaces to catch spills. I told him of losing my parents at a young age and my subsequent life in various foster homes. One surrogate family, two lovely older men who offered to adopt me, gave me a traditional film camera as a high school graduation gift. “I was into vintage stuff, still am,” I said. “I don’t believe they expected that to be a gateway to a hopeful career, though. I was originally going to college to study nursing.</p>
<p>“I met Dr. Hause during my senior year at Tatooine. He’d come to the senior art show to scout prospective graduate candidates at Hoth. I wasn’t thinking of a master’s at the time, I just wanted a job.” I held out my cup when Ben opened the second bottle. “He convinced me that an M.F.A. would increase my chances of employment, particularly in academia. Plus, with the stipends Hoth paid G.A.’s it allowed me to continue school without completely starving.”</p>
<p>“I can relate. I learned quite a bit about budgeting during my M.B.A. I’m rather creative with ramen now.”</p>
<p>I eyed Ben hard. “Really? I would have thought --”</p>
<p>Ben pointed the bottle at me in a bid to speak. “Remember what I said about not being impressed? Most everything I have now, I earned. People think I’m rich because my parents are. I share an apartment with my closest friend. I’m paid a salary. There was no trust fund to cover college because my family believes in sharing the wealth. What money exists goes toward several philanthropic endeavors.”</p>
<p>“That’s very admirable of your family. Have they given any thought to...I don’t know, endowments to art schools for the purposes of nurturing post-graduates?” I smiled.</p>
<p>Ben touched the bottle’s rim to his lip for a second before pulling a drink. “Thinking of a doctorate?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know if I’m called to teach. Though it’s nice to know I may be bossy enough to keep a class in line,” I said. “What about you? Is there a role for you in your mother’s administration?”</p>
<p>“First, thanks for your optimism. Second, I have my eye on the ambassadorship to the Bahamas.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, actually. I can say I don’t aspire to political office, so there’s no point in staying on that road. I studied history and business administration; when I was a kid I dreamed of working for the Smithsonian.” </p>
<p>“You still can.”</p>
<p>“A boy can dream.” Ben leaned back a bit and checked out surroundings again. We were the last of the outdoor diners, and it appeared as though we would close the place. </p>
<p>I meant to retort but Camille popped over with a to-go bag and to collect empties and wadded napkins. “We leave the lights on, don’t feel you have to rush,” she told Ben, directly. After he thanked her, she executed the slowest turn on a heel and left, her backward glance focused on his broad shoulders.</p>
<p>“What?” he asked of me, amused, on seeing me glare her down.</p>
<p>“Oh, nothing.”</p>
<p>He turned back but Camille disappeared behind the truck. The cook was putting the window down. “Were you checking her out?”</p>
<p>“She’s lovely, but I’m afraid I’m hopelessly heterosexual. Plain vanilla.”</p>
<p>He faced me again, his voice turned to silk. “Nothing plain about vanilla. It’s smooth and goes with nearly everything.”</p>
<p>“And you?”</p>
<p>“I’m not into labels, but I’ll say vanilla with sprinkles.” Ben downed his final bite of the chicken and sucked his fingers clean of the sauce. “Anyway, I envy you being able to make your own decisions with respect to your career.”</p>
<p>“You’re not saying you were forced into the degrees you have, or your current job?”</p>
<p>“Not the word I’d use. Coerced, guilted maybe. People have high hopes for your future and you don’t want to let them down.” His face tightened, and I realized the conversation was rising to an uncomfortable level for him. Talking about his family, his mother in particular, seemed to trigger a pain point. We required some levity, stat.</p>
<p>Which was how the next words out of my mouth pushed forward before my brain could vet and censor them.</p>
<p>“My friend Kaydel, the one whose engagement pictures I took today, said since I was going to shoot you undressed that I might as well have an affair with you.” </p>
<p>Vinyl scratch. Silence. The voice in my head demanded to know what the fuck I was thinking.</p>
<p>Ben was holding his half of the chorizo empanada and slowly lowered it to the basket. His face went blank for a moment.</p>
<p>“You always do what your friends tell you?”</p>
<p>“Uh, no.” Eh, in for a penny. “But, I figure if anything could take my mind off this wasp sting, that’d do the trick.”</p>
<p>He gave a slight nod. I flushed hot and reached for my cider. A six-pack of this wouldn’t erase my embarrassment. “Ben, I--”</p>
<p>“Hey,” he said at the time, and we stopped together. After a beat, he leaned in and said, “Come sit by me for a sec?”</p>
<p>Good idea, that. With the blood pounding in my head, it worked better for me to sit close and hear Ben politely explain the impossibility of an affair. He possessed the manners to let me down in a discreet way. Bully for him.</p>
<p>He patted the bench space to his left as I rose. “So I can talk in your good ear,” he said, kidding. Next to Ben, I felt tiny. Maybe the situation amplified it. When he bent close, bracing his palm against the bench, it gave me the impression to expect a lecture.</p>
<p>Ben whispered, “I’m not prepared for this.”</p>
<p>“I know. I’m sorry. I was totally out of li--”</p>
<p>“Where’s a drugstore?”</p>
<p>“What?” We almost touched noses when I turned. No more kidding; those dark eyes meant business.</p>
<p>“I have to get protection first. I’m clean, so you know." </p>
<p>"Me, too," I jumped in. "I mean, I never thought you weren't..."</p>
<p>"I get tested every six months, but this way...since I don’t know if you use anything...”</p>
<p>I had an IUD implant that was good for a few more years. The words didn’t come, though. I continued to process how quickly he accepted my suggestion as a done deal.</p>
<p>“What's happening?” I asked. So much for bossy and assertive.</p>
<p>“You want to fuck, right?” Ben asked, and picked up one of the small custard tarts from the second basket. The pastry shell flaked on his lips with the first bite, and the crackling it made was the loudest sound I heard in that moment. “Or,” his voice lowered, “did I hear wrong?”</p>
<p>I pondered his question, calling to mind everything I’d thought about him since our first meeting. The answer came automatically. “Yes, uh, no. I mean, you heard right. I want...to fuck. What about you?”</p>
<p>“Oh, hell yeah. I wasn’t expecting to be asked but I’m glad you brought it up.” He moved his arm and gathered all the uneaten food into the bag. “I’ve done nothing but work 24/7 since my mother won her last primary." This faraway look shone in his eyes, or maybe it was the twinkle lights above us. </p>
<p>"Man, I miss fucking so much, everything about it," he said, then back to me, "What would you like to do?”</p>
<p>No way was I delivering a “What?” this time, or mentioning Phasma. Surely his admission of involuntary celibacy negated any active relationship there. </p>
<p>I willed all the “boss” strength possible and took a deep breath. “You like eating pussy?”</p>
<p>Ben said nothing at first. Gaze pinned to mine, he held up the remainder of his tart and demonstrated an answer. He darted his tongue into the soft layer of yellow custard and slowly lapped up a dollop of the sweet stuff. </p>
<p>“I love it,” he said finally. "I could lick pussy all night."</p>
<p>“There’s a CVS down the street,” I said.</p>
<p>“I think my hotel room would be more comfortable, and private.”</p>
<p>That took a second to process. </p>
<p>“Let’s leave this place."</p>
<p>“You got it, boss.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Rey - Rug Burns Be Damned</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Rey and Ben just make it out of the elevator.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After the longest car trip of my life -- a mere five miles to the Oceanfront, interrupted by the CVS run -- Ben escorted me into the slowest elevator in the state. Alone with him in the confining metal box dragging us to the umpteenth floor, I steadied my breathing. We were doing this.</p>
<p>He wanted me. I wanted him. We were going to enjoy an amazing fuck and hold the memories close for years to come, something to call up on nights when our respective spouses yammered on in our ears about the laundry piling up.</p>
<p>He brought his hand up to touch my face, and brushed my cheek with his thumb before pushing back my hair. I realized he was inspecting my sting wound, but the gentling of his touch made the moment more intimate.</p>
<p>His other hand clutched the bags of leftovers and the night’s supplies. “You alright?”</p>
<p>My insides squeezed. “Never better.”</p>
<p>He tugged me closer and I tilted my head back and up to meet his kiss. By the time the doors opened to his floor we were deep into each other. Ben had me against the wall and lifted me by my tush, guiding me to lock my legs around my waist. He didn’t break free, not to check which direction he had to walk us to get to his room, nor to fish his keycard out of his pocket.</p>
<p>Once in the room, the clothes came off. Shoes kicked across the carpet, pants and underthings pooled in tiny piles. Ben grabbed a pillow and dropped it on the ground, and before I could ask why weren’t we using the bed he brought me closer and sat me on the bureau. Kneeling on the pillow, he opened my thighs and hooked my legs over his shoulders. </p>
<p>He used both hands to spread my pussy - I don’t wax or shave off, but I keep the landscape trim. The wooden edge of the bureau cut into my bare behind but I didn’t care. </p>
<p>“You look so sweet.” Ben’s intimate study of every part kept my attention, so much that when he closed in to lick my cunt I felt that I could have sat on spikes and been happy.</p>
<p>He wasn’t lying about loving it. His earlier demonstration with the pastry hardly did the man justice. Ben wasn’t just eating my pussy, he was worshiping it. The slow yet intense movement of his tongue working up my labia to my clit transfixed me. I reached down to stroke his hair and he lifted his gaze to mine. His eyes seemed to seek approval...was he doing it right? Did I like it?</p>
<p>“Right there, stay on my clit,” I said to encourage him. “Make me come.”</p>
<p>Ben pursed his lips hard over my clitoral hood for a loud, wet kiss. “What else?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “You like fingers in or out?”</p>
<p>“In.”</p>
<p>He went back to licking me and held up two fingers. My mouth had dried from all the panting, but I swallowed anyway and bent forward to suck them in. Ben then shifted to one side and, his left hand grasping my waist, slid his right forefingers into me. The sensation of his mouth on my clit, his lips opening wider to take in more, coupled with the come-hither motion inside me amplified my pleasure. I about launched through the ceiling.</p>
<p>He lifted his head and gasped. “Do that again,” he said.</p>
<p>“Do what again?”</p>
<p>“You closed in tight. I want to feel it...like this…”</p>
<p>He bent lower. The fingers came out, swiped up my labia and rubbed my clit hard and fast. In their place he jammed his tongue deep. That was all I needed to explode into a million pieces. </p>
<p>I rode the waves hard while Ben fucked me with his tongue, bucking forward as though I might dislodge him. Instead he carried me down to the carpet where I finished, riding his face as he clutched my ass to hold me in place.</p>
<p>In time my cries turned from pleasure to pleasured pain. “Ben, please,” I begged. “It’s starting to hurt.” I rolled off to see him staring at the ceiling, his lips and chin glazed, grinning like he’d discovered a secret stash of sweets.</p>
<p>His hard cock, cut and thick and looking so damn delicious, rested on his stomach. I had to give back. But, when I meant to touch him I heard a sharp, “Don’t.”</p>
<p>Ben snapped out of his bliss and reached over my body for the drugstore bag. “I can’t wait any longer. You put your tongue on my dick and I’ll come after two seconds.”</p>
<p>“I don’t mind that. Let me taste you.”</p>
<p>He already had a condom out and tore open the foil with his teeth, spitting out the corner. “You feel like a hot velvet slip and slide. I want in, now,” he said, and rolled on the rubber. He refused to wait, too. We weren’t wasting the few seconds getting into bed.</p>
<p>“This way.” He coaxed me onto my right side and pressed against my back. I raised my left leg to give him room to slap his prick against my swollen pussy before he guided it into my cunt. Then he hooked that arm under my leg and stroked my inner thigh.</p>
<p>Glob, the way he stretched me. </p>
<p>“Shit.” He sucked in air. “So tight.” He leaned forward to kiss my neck and I turned my head to meet his lips, tasting everything. He was a salty, soaked mess and I hungered for all of it. </p>
<p>“You like it like this?” His voice was hoarse, breathing labored. My body moved with his, pushing down as he rocked upward with every slow stroke. </p>
<p>“Fuck me harder if you want, I can take it,” I told him. Rug burns be damned.</p>
<p>“Let’s go a bit longer. Think you could come again?”</p>
<p>“I want to ride you,” I said. He filled me fine now, but I knew I’d take his cock deeper sitting astride him. I also wanted to see the look on his face when he came without having to twist my neck.</p>
<p>“Soon. Touch me, Rey.”</p>
<p>Rey. Was I no longer the boss? We’ll see about that.</p>
<p>Ben bent his head over my left breast, taking my nipple in a slow, wet kiss that ended with teeth. When he freed it I lowered my hand to where we were joined. My fingers brushed the rolled edge of the condom down to the root of his moving prick. He whimpered a bit then, and moaned louder as I cupped him between his thighs and helped him along to pump. Faster. And. Get. In. Me.</p>
<p>His response was to release my leg and cover my hand with his for a moment before sliding up to my clit. One press set off sparks behind my eyes. </p>
<p>My turn. </p>
<p>I kegeled, hard, hoping to clamp so tightly he might feel stuck. He <em>did</em> ask for it again, after all.</p>
<p>The way his body stiffened told me he felt it. “Ah! Shit, Rey, you’re going to kill me.”</p>
<p>“I will for real if you won’t switch.” The words ground out of me. I let go of Ben and pushed the ground with both hands to lift, and he rolled backward. His cock slipped out, slick and hard. The condom looked as though it might slide off, so he righted it.</p>
<p>I flipped back over and kicked a leg across his hips, letting him help as I seated myself. “That’s better,” I said on a sigh. </p>
<p>Ben propped up on his elbows, his chest rising and falling heavily and his face slack. So close to tipping over, I guessed, and that pushed me to grind faster.</p>
<p>“I was close, Rey,” he whispered.</p>
<p>I touched both sides of his face, and fisted my fingers through his hair, laughing. “Hey, you wanted to go longer.”</p>
<p>He smiled but said nothing. He was eye level with my breasts, his expression hungry as he watched them bounce. After a while he let his head fall and his eyes close, as though centering himself for a climax. His words slurred, mostly hisses of yes and so good. He looked vulnerable, quiet, sexy. My photographer’s brain horned in on the moment to chide me for leaving my camera behind and missing the chance to preserve this moment.</p>
<p>It caught me off guard, leading me to a slower screw. Ben opened his eyes and the aura of hunger amplified.</p>
<p>“And you wanted to ride,” he said.</p>
<p>He clamped his hands on my ass, then lay all the way back. I fell forward, bracing the heels of my hands by his arms. </p>
<p>He lifted my bottom like I weighed nothing. His cock slid slowly out of my pussy. Agony.</p>
<p>Then he slammed me back down and I nearly bit wrong.</p>
<p>“Hard enough for you?” he asked.</p>
<p>"Do that again."</p>
<p>I kegeled him again, loving his wince. Challenge accepted. When he came, after many, many repetitions, it happened with a deep roar that probably carried over the ocean.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Eventually, we made it to the actual bed. Thoughts of finishing my exhibit spoiled the afterglow for me. Never mind that I had time to retouch, print and frame the remaining photos before the show, my nagging photographer’s brain managed to come out of the sex-clouded stupor to remind me.</p>
<p>When Ben asked, “Stay a while?” I closed my eyes and silenced it. It worked too well, or we fucked too hard, because once we were under the sheets and intertwined we both conked. </p>
<p>I opened my eyes next at four-thirteen in the morning, so said the clock, and winced at the sliver of bright light streaming from the bathroom.</p>
<p>One minute passed and it doused, and Ben emerged from the bathroom neat as a pin. Crisp, different shirt, black slacks and leather belt, every hair in place, all buttons fastened. I wanted him to come closer so I could mess him up all over again.</p>
<p>“Morning,” he said, seeing me staring. “How’s your ear?”</p>
<p>“What ear?”</p>
<p>“I’m serious. Don’t let it get infected.” But he laughed anyway, and reached down to where the drugstore bag fell. He plucked out a tube of hydrocortisone and set it on my purse. “Use that,” he said. Next he pulled out a small bottle of lube. “Guess we didn’t need this.”</p>
<p>I scooted over when he perched on the foot of the bed. This time, his kisses tasted of wintergreen and hotel soap. </p>
<p>“Why is it four in the morning?” I asked. Moreover, how in the hell could he look so damn fine this early?</p>
<p>Ben bussed my good ear. “I have to be back in DC. The machine never stops, and these are the crucial months.”</p>
<p>“I hate politics now.”</p>
<p>“So do I. I should go to art school.”</p>
<p>“What’s your specialty?”</p>
<p>“Not a damn thing,” he said.</p>
<p>I doubted that, but I found the kissing more palatable than conversation this early in the day. I inhaled clean shirt and Ben until I thought my lungs might burst, all the while pulling back during liplock in hopes he would fall on top of me.</p>
<p>No such luck. He caressed my face and gently pushed away.</p>
<p>“I know,” I said, defeated. “Go win an election. Your mother had my vote before you slept with me, so you know.”</p>
<p>“That’d make canvassing more interesting, yes.”  We kissed again. I behaved, but I so wanted my fingers in his hair. “You need a lift back?” he asked as we tapered off.</p>
<p>“I’ll get an Uber.”</p>
<p>I hated seeing the disappointment on his face. “Room’s paid for. Checkout’s at eleven, so don’t feel you have to leave soon.” </p>
<p>He touched his forehead to mine. Our gazes locked and, even in the dim, I saw such affection that it softened my heart. I would see Ben everyday this week in my photographs, but it didn’t hit until this moment that I likely wouldn’t be this physically close to him again. He was off to a life of political spinning and state dinners, and I… well, who the hell knew? We lived on different threads, fortunate enough to tangle once.</p>
<p>I wondered if he was thinking all of this as well, and if the same shadow crossed his emotions.</p>
<p>But what a ride.</p>
<p>“Thank you for posing for me,” I told him.</p>
<p>“Thank you for relieving me of my virginity.”</p>
<p>“WHAT?!”</p>
<p>“Gotcha.” He winked. I reached for the nearest pillow but he was off the bed before I could wallop him.</p>
<p>His duffel and briefcase waited at the door. I let the sheets fall and exposed my bare breasts, showing him what he was leaving. Fair enough punishment for a bad joke, and it worked. He lingered in the door frame, clutching the knob, and fixed on me.</p>
<p>“See you later, boss.” The door closed on his smile.</p>
<p>I flopped back and sighed. It wasn’t a goodbye, not quite.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Ben - Rye & Rey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Ben annoys Armitage, and Han annoys Ben.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for recent kudos and feedback; they are most appreciated.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Jaina, tell me something. Harold Ramis is dead, right?”</p><p>I tapped at the touchscreen on my car’s dashboard to raise the volume. All through this conversation, Jaina sounded like she was calling from the bottom of a canyon.</p><p>“Uh, I think so?” Silence followed, then, “Is that something I should look up?”</p><p>“Not necessary. I know he’s dead. For a second, though, I wondered if he’d been resurrected to direct the sequel to <em>Groundhog Day</em> and cast me in the lead without my knowledge.” Two weeks back from the beach, and my life had fallen into repetitive ennui. Jaina, a recent hire charged with graphic design for the Organa 2020 social accounts, had called every day with questions easily solved by using some common sense. <em>Hello, Mr. Solo. Sorry to bother you, I know you’re busy, but…</em> Every greeting was the same, delivered late in the work day while the rest of my underlings wound down and waited anxiously to join the five o’clock world.</p><p>Not me, though. Mother’s recent win of the Ohio primary gave her a substantial lead over the party’s last remaining candidate. The announcement of her nomination at the convention seemed more and more like a formality, which meant the work of my team was only beginning.</p><p>I slowed to a stop behind a line of cars not far from my turn and waited for Jaina to catch the reference. Nothing but hemming and nervous laughter on her end. Yeah, <em>Groundhog Day</em> was about as old as she was, but surely she knew the premise. Cable ran the damn movie every night.</p><p>“Jaina.” I tried for calm and borderline fatherly. “Most of these issues you’re having, you don’t need to consult me about them. Look to the rest of the team to get the sense of design and message we’re sending out. And go through archived posts, too. Let what’s been done guide you and build upon it.”</p><p>Poor kid. First job out of college. I’d hedged on hiring her, but my mother sensed something in Jaina and overruled me. Not for the first time.</p><p>“Yes, Mr. Solo. I will be more judicious in reaching out.”</p><p><em>Lord, please don’t be crying.</em> “I appreciate it. Use the Slack channels; it’s a better way to get answers.”</p><p>“Thanks!” That perked her up.</p><p>I exhaled, ready for this damn light to turn green so I could go home. I’d had my fill of insecure staff and bickering with printers over production costs and just wanted to crawl into bed with a bottle of rye. </p><p>Rye, and Rey. Two weeks later, I recalled every detail -- her taste, her scent, her skin.</p><p>Fuck that photographer professor for turning down the position we offered. Bringing Dr. Hause to the team would have allowed me to finagle frequent visits to the beach. When he said no thanks, before I could even suggest Rey as a candidate, Mother had to go hire the nephew of an old bridge partner.</p><p>Why even cajole me into taking this damn job if she intended to micro-manage everything? She couldn’t do that as president. </p><p>I used the back entrance from the garage to enter my building. The mail could wait, as could whichever chatty concierge had tonight’s shift. This being a Friday, I’d hoped for a few hours of solitude before my roommate arrived home to disrupt the peace. </p><p>No such luck. I entered the foyer to the dulcet tones of smooth jazz, over which Armitage’s woman of the week loudly grunted her approval of whatever sexual act he was performing on her.</p><p><em>Thump thump thump thump</em> went the headboard. I predicted another excursion to IKEA by month’s end.</p><p>As usual, he’d looped a green tie around the knob of his bedroom door. This was a code of his own design. A green tie invited me to join in on the fun. Even though I identified as vanilla with sprinkles, it never applied in these situations. Curse of the only child, I suppose; I dislike sharing.</p><p>Red tie? <em>Back off, Solo. She’s my soulmate.</em> That tie was still in its original box in Armie’s closet.</p><p>I retrieved my bottle from the kitchen, filched the tie, and brought everything with my laptop bag into my room and shut the door. I don’t take orders from clothing.</p><p>“Alexa,” I called out as I powered up my home base, “what is today’s top new story?”</p><p>The black cylinder on my desk illuminated. “Today in Washington, President Palpatine declared in his daily briefing that Senator Leia Organa’s campaign promises for lower-class tax relief stood to threaten the nation’s economy if she is elected.”</p><p>I looked forward to watching my mother eviscerate that jackass at their first debate. </p><p>“Also,” Alexa intoned, “former President Ben Kenobi has officially endorsed Senator Leia--”</p><p>“What! Stop.” The device fell silent and I slammed into my chair. Some might say my desk resembled a NASA setup for the large dual monitors filled with multiple open browser windows in a Bloomsberg-like grid. In addition to all the campaign social accounts, I had the important news sites active to catch things like this. Of course big news had to break on the drive home while I talked a frantic Gen Z’er down from the tower.</p><p>I confirmed Alexa’s reveal. All the major news outlets ran it first in their tickers. CNN showed video of Kenobi singing Mother’s praises -- he said all the words I needed to hear. This was big with a capital B. Kenobi had distanced himself from much of the election drama, but his endorsement at this stage of the game pretty much sealed it for Mother.</p><p>A notification alert popped up in the corner of one screen. <em>Did you hear?</em> This from Jacen, who scheduled the off-hours posts.</p><p><em>On it now.</em> I opened Slack and informed the team I’d share the Kenobi news. Then I checked our social scheduling tools for the next “when I’m elected” posts set to launch and moved them to different times before working on the breaking news.</p><p>Pictures of Mother with Kenobi existed, but as he was a friend of the family they were mainly in casual settings -- too intimate to use in this situation. I searched my folders until I found one of the two of them posed outside a church. Both were nicely dressed and looked deep in conversation. I cropped it a bit and hoped people wouldn’t recall that it had been taken at a funeral.</p><p>Seconds after pulling the triggers, another thought occurred to me, and on instinct I called up Palpatine’s Twitter. </p><p>
  <em>OF COURSE Kenobi would endorse Senator Organa over the more competent Congressman Ackbar! He’s the godfather of her child with Speed Racer. #nepotisminaction</em>
</p><p>He spewed damn near hourly on his own handle; fine by me. When we took over, I planned to wipe the official presidential handle clean and burn sage.</p><p>“So says the man guilty of cronyism. You are a toxic raisin.” I consoled myself by watching our new tweet rack up the likes and RTs. This made up for the shitty work day, yet I still lacked. </p><p>Rey’s last text to me came the day before yesterday. Busy schedules slowed our communication, or so I chose to believe. I had excuses, too, but none that held up well. For Rey’s part, I’d narrowed it down to three possibilities:</p><p>What we shared was the happiest, most orgasmic of accidents. Then it ended. Move along, nothing more to see.</p><p>What we shared was the happiest, most orgasmic of accidents, and she’d convinced herself to fade away to avoid risking tender emotions. </p><p>She was too focused on the final lap toward her M.F.A. to chat. Plus, there was tonight’s show featuring yours truly wearing what nature gave me. </p><p>I rooted for option C. If B, could I blame her? We’d agreed that night that we wanted to fuck. If I didn’t make it clear when we parted that I left our connection open-ended, I couldn’t complain if Rey decided to pursue other options. However, despite the widening gaps in time, she answered my texts.</p><p>Rey had understood that work kept me in D.C. Even if I high-tailed it to DCA for the hour-long flight, I wouldn’t get there in time for her show. Her friends planned to monopolize her with a congratulatory dinner afterward. </p><p>I would have preferred to celebrate with Rey in private. Naked, sweaty private. The gesture I’d made in place of a visit would have to suffice.</p><p>The last-minute political excitement now in the rear-view, I stripped down to my undershorts. Thanks to bad timing, I had the weekend watch of our social media, so that negated meeting Rey’s inner circle. I intended to drink whiskey and eat takeout and block trolls for the next forty-eight hours. During breaks I’d lay back in bed and remember Rey’s pussy riding my face to win the Belmont Stakes.</p><p>Sprawled on my mattress, focused on the air cooling my skin, I closed my eyes to bring her back. The unwelcome interruption wiped her away in seconds.</p><p>“Hello there.”</p><p>A blonde this time, clad in a pink bra and boyshorts that probably had a large, suggestive word stitched along the ass. I offered her my best “buzz off” scowl and reminded myself to buy a bell. “That door was closed.”</p><p>“I know. I opened it.” Pout. Pose. Fluttering lashes.</p><p>“This is a sensitive area. Only authorized personnel,” I told her. I rolled off the bed and turned off my monitors. Yeah, there was nothing up that she couldn’t find on the Internet, but why tell her?</p><p>“What do you mean? It's a bedroom. And…” she strolled further inside, “it’s got a nice bed in it.”</p><p>“Armitage likes it.” Might as well have some fun tonight.</p><p>Blondie bent her brows. “You’re Ben Solo, aren’t you? Armie said he’d introduce me.”</p><p>“No.” I deepened my voice, going for full menace. “I’m Kylo Ren, Senator Organa’s Chief of Security, that of which you have breached. I’ll have to ask you to leave.”</p><p>“Riiiight.” Joy, she wanted to play along. “Why would a security officer be sitting half naked in Ben Solo’s bedroom?”</p><p>I widened the loop on the tie and put it around my neck, tightening it around my throat. Bodyguard by day, stripper by night. “Why do you believe this is Ben Solo’s bedroom?”</p><p>“Because…” she looked unsure of herself now, “Armie said it was.”</p><p>“Armitage says many things, the majority of which aren’t true. I’ll wager he’s yet to reveal our true connection to you.” I stood slowly as I talked. People have always marveled at my height, especially women. It’s not my nature to use it as a tool of intimidation, though. More fun to be thought of as a rock wall for the ladies to climb, though given recent events I wouldn’t stay open to the public.</p><p>“Sheila!” Heavy, rapid footfalls preceded Armie’s blustering entry into this bad sitcom. Tightie whites, black socks, half-buttoned shirt -- a nice attempt at “caught in the act” cosplay. “Sheila, come on. I said you weren’t allowed in here.”</p><p>He raised his hand to escort Sheila away, but I blocked. <em>Son, you’ll learn today</em>. “Armitage, you disappoint me. When will you accept that such a diversion is a poor substitute for the passion we share?”</p><p>He didn’t flinch. Armie played the old college game like a pro. “Ben, I’m getting her out of here. You don’t have to --”</p><p>“Why?” I closed in on Armie, and pivoted to make sure Sheila saw my crotch nudge his hip. I flipped the tie in his face. “We’ll use this to bind her hands, and force her to watch.”</p><p>“Hey, I’m down,” Sheila said. </p><p>“No, you’re not.” Armie shook his head. He beckoned the woman to the door. “Sheila, I’m sorry to have to raincheck dinner. We’re expecting official company. I gotta get you dressed…”</p><p>Sheila gasped. “Omigosh. Is the senator coming?”</p><p>I bussed Armie’s ear. “All day long, I’ve thought of nothing but fucking your sweet ass.”</p><p>“Not until you’ve taken care of the crabs. Sheila, we’re going.” He tugged Sheila away and I slammed the door on their exit. Sheila’s voice remained shrill in the distance. <em>Ben Solo has crabs?!</em></p><p>Time for a drink.</p><p>My phone pinged before I sucked down the first shot. Rey thanked me for the flowers with a fetching selfie -- a long-stemmed daisy between her teeth.</p><p>
  <em>Glad they got to u. Wasn’t sure where to send them. How’s it going?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Nervous. At the gallery now helping set up. You’re missing your debut.</em>
</p><p><em>Can I see?</em> She’d sent watermarked proofs of the three pictures for the exhibit earlier. I had to admit, I didn’t really see myself in any of them. That’s not to say I hated the end result; Rey put out stunning work. The photos she’d chosen each featured me with my head turned to partially obscure my face. Presenting the shots in black and white further highlighted her artistry. It was like she created a new person.</p><p>A picture appeared underneath my request. The white frames with white mats nicely contrasted with the grays and shadows of each shot. </p><p>
  <em>I’m honored to be part of this.</em>
</p><p>Her typing bubble percolated, but I quickly added, <em>I want to see you again.</em></p><p>The bubble disappeared momentarily, then returned.</p><p>
  <em>I want that too.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There’s so much more I wanted to do.</em>
</p><p>Her response: <em>I can think of one thing.  ;-P Need to prepare to meet my adoring public. Take your vitamins.</em></p><p>“Ominous,” I said. Armitage’s dramatic entrance, in full dress now, distracted me from a response. </p><p>“Would it kill you,” he said, “to act politely around guests?”</p><p>I poured a second shot. “Suck my throbbing, thick-veined dick.” Down the hatch. “That woman wasn’t a guest. You brought her here on the empty promise of being spit-roasted by the son of a future president, and I’ve told you more than once I’m not interested. You wanna use your position to get laid, fine. Keep them out of my room.”</p><p>Armie folded his arms. “Despite your acting like an asshole, she still intends to vote Organa.”</p><p>“If women's rights are her jam, it’s in her best interest,” I said. “While you were getting your rocks off, Kenobi endorsed Mother.”</p><p>Armie let out a whoop and clasped his hands. “That’s terrific! I could actually have this job for four more years.”</p><p>“And though you’re basically a walking hormone, you would deserve it.” I called up my delivery app. “At least you’re confident about your skill set, unlike others.”</p><p>He needn’t have asked whom. “The girl still giving you a headache, huh? She’s got a crush on you, you know.”</p><p>I didn’t. Jaina had a few years before hitting legal drinking age -- too young for my liking. Besides, I couldn’t imagine why she’d crush on me after my recent, vocal exasperation with her. </p><p>It occurred to me then I had no idea how old Rey was. Not as young as Jaina to be in grad school, unless she was one of those prodigies.</p><p>I shook my head. <em>Apples to oranges, Ben</em>. “You want Thai?”</p><p>“Get extra. The Captain’s ETA is about twenty minutes,” he said, walking off.</p><p>“What? Why?” Last I spoke with my father, he was in Florida stumping for Mother among seniors and race fans. He’d volunteered to canvas the South; I was certain the opportunity to tour his boat up and down the Intracoastal Waterway provided the incentive. “Why is he coming here?”</p><p>“Ask him.”</p><p>I contemplated a third shot, thinking it might cool down my temper and keep me from strangling Armie. To his credit, he was a better speechwriter than roommate. Mother wouldn’t take it well were I to ask her to help hide his corpse.</p><p>Nineteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds later, the Captain pounded on the front door. “We paid the rent!” I hollered from the other side, and swung it open to reveal my father’s weathered scowl. “Did the boat sink?” I asked. “I left my good hat on it.”</p><p>“It’s docked in Charleston. Lando will drive it back up.” He commandeered my recliner and the TV remote. “What’s for dinner?”</p><p>“Pad thai. Delivery’s on the way.”</p><p>He glanced my way, his expression unchanged. “You gonna answer the door like that again?”</p><p>“I’m wearing a necktie.” I looked down my chest.</p><p>“Put some goddamn clothes on, Ben,” Dad wailed. “Why is everything a joke to you?”</p><p>He’d leveled up on grouchy today. I planted in Armitage’s chair on the opposite side of the living room. “I work long hours every day, and wear suits to impress vendors and voters and Mother’s detractors. I long for the luxury of a job that only requires a fifteen-minute ribbon cutting, wearing jeans and a satin jacket with my race car’s number emblazoned on the back.” He winced at that. “But, apparently that’s not who I am.</p><p>“I’m home now, and I crave comfort and levity,” I said. “That means as little clothing as I can get away with.”</p><p>“You have a girl here?” He indicated my room.</p><p><em>I hope I have a woman at the beach.</em> “Just Alexa.”</p><p>Armitage stepped into the living area. Dad pointed out his state of dress, wondered aloud why I couldn’t be more like him, then asked him to bring a beer. “A shirt, at least?” he asked me, waving at the tie. “This looks ridiculous.”</p><p>“Fine.” I lost my seat exchanging the tie for a white tank top, for all the good it did. Our driver set the food by the door before ringing and running.</p><p>I rolled in my desk chair next to Dad. “I just realized neither of us said hello.”</p><p>“Our family’s never been one to stand on ceremony,” he said, picking out the chicken from his food container. “Armitage, how’s that speech coming?”</p><p>Armie swallowed down his bite. “I emailed a draft to you around noon, Mr. Solo.” That answer struck some nerve in my father. I suppose he hoped writer’s block might strike and prevent Armie from delivering the words Dad was scheduled to read at the convention, thus allowing him to gracefully cancel. Much as he adored my mother, I believe he genuinely feared humiliating her, and that a speech in front of a large-scale audience posed great risk. Compared to glad-handling retirees and flirting with college students, a speech at a national convention must have represented an unreachable goal.</p><p>“Is that why you’re here?” I asked. “You have a few weeks to prepare. We’ll make sure you’re ready.”</p><p>“No.” He speared some noodles but didn’t eat. “It’s about your mother.”</p><p>My heart panged at his tone. “What about her? We talked at lunch.” Barring problems with traffic, the Organa 2020 coach should have been closing on Charlotte, where she’d speak at a rally on Saturday. Winning this state, and other deep South strongholds, determined the course of the election. It helped that Dad still enjoyed a healthy fanbase from his racing days, and Charlotte was a hub. To think about it, he should have been there with her.</p><p>“Ben, something's up.”</p><p>“What?” Inoperable stage-four cancer. An acrimonious divorce. Another long-lost sibling who was a serial killer. I glanced at Armie, who looked paler than normal. “Dad, what is it?”</p><p>“It’s hard to explain, kid. Maybe it’s the stress of the campaign trail, and Palpatine hounding her in the press. I planned to meet her in North Carolina but she told me not to worry about it, that she’d meet me back here. She was so vague, sounded like she was on a mission, and it involved you.”</p><p>“How? We only talked about the new logos today. Not exactly earth-shattering stuff.” They’d change after she announced her running mate. Mother’s campaign manager arranged for her travel and appearances. I had nothing to do with her Charlotte trip.</p><p>“She canceled Charlotte. Said Organa 2020 was taking a detour but didn’t tell me where. She’s got all these people waiting for her there and they don’t know what’s going on.” The worry in his expression aged him. “Ben, I don’t know where your mother is. I came here thinking maybe she decided not to leave DC, but if this big secret involves you where else would she go?”</p><p>“What did Chewie say when you called him? Surely you did that.” Chewie, a man of few words and a beard to rival ZZ Top, stood taller than me. He’d been with the family for decades, first as Dad’s crew chief and now as Mother’s personal bodyguard. Prior careers as a mechanic and Green Beret well qualified him.</p><p>“She swore him to secrecy.” Dad rolled his eyes. "Nobody will talk to me about my own wife!"</p><p>I set my container on the floor. “What can I tell you? Today was like any other day. Why Mother thought it important to bail on a rally for my benefit makes no sense. Where is there to go but…”</p><p>But...to a beach town.</p><p>To an art school. </p><p>To see a photography exhibit.</p><p>To meet the photographer.</p><p>A fist entered my chest and squeezed every drop of blood from my heart. “Fuck. Me. Running.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Ben & Rey - How I Met Your Mother</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which a fetish is revealed and a son is exposed.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Ben</em>
</p>
<p>I checked my phone. Rey said the opening reception at the gallery began at seven, but for all I knew Mother chose to err on the side of discretion and ruin a potential relationship for me outside the public’s view.</p>
<p>I tried her number first. Straight to voicemail. I texted, <em>Dad is here. Where are you? What are you doing? You call me now!</em></p>
<p>I rolled my chair back, leaving Dad and Armitage to sit uncomfortably together, and locked myself in my room. Rey answered on the second ring. “Hey, boss,” I greeted her, staying calm. “How are the nerves?”</p>
<p>“I’m better. Rose and I snuck a few glasses of rose from the buffet when nobody was looking.”</p>
<p>"A few?"</p>
<p>She laughed. "They're like these tiny plastic shot glasses. I'm hardly buzzed. I'd need to drink twenty to feel anything, and I doubt I'm able to steal that many."</p>
<p>“Seems like a long time to stand around waiting for the reception to start.” <em>Maybe you should take a walk. To the bridge-tunnel and back. Avoid surprise guests.</em></p>
<p>“Well, a few trustees are here for some kind of VIP pre-show. They'll snatch up all the hot appetizers the waiters carry around. I suppose I could chat a bit with some of them. Makes Dr. Hause look good.” Her voice lowered. “I could be persuaded to pursue other aural pursuits, though.”</p>
<p>She hadn’t mentioned seeing Mother; I took that as a promising sign. “Rey, I should warn you about something --”</p>
<p>“I’m not wearing underwear.”</p>
<p>That wasn’t it. “I have reason to believe… wait, what?”</p>
<p>“I let the laundry pile up. I was so busy tying up all these loose ends it was go commando or wear a swimsuit underneath my dress,” she said. Her voice faded off and I discerned she was answering somebody walking up to her. “I’m really glad you called. I’m going to pretend this is an emergency and slip away.”</p>
<p>She mentioned an employee lounge, far enough away from the exhibit for private conversation, but with a paneled glass door so she could spy on the crowd and note if anybody detected her missing. “The flowers are beautiful, really,” she said. “Nice surprise.”</p>
<p>“Wish it could have been more, you deserve it.” Hearing Rey’s voice broke my resolve. I couldn’t predict how she might react on hearing my mother may make a surprise appearance at this show. What if I said something, and Mother didn't show? Rey might worry for nothing.</p>
<p>At best, this sort of exhibit received publicity among the student body, and maybe a paragraph in the community section of the local paper. An event mention on the school's Facebook page. How would word ever have gotten to my mother?</p>
<p>Dr. Hause? Had to be. It wasn’t like we instructed the man to say nothing.</p>
<p>“Is your major professor there now?” I asked.</p>
<p>“Actually, no. He was, but said something about running an errand. He’s supposed to be back in time to give the opening remarks.”</p>
<p>Was my mother the “errand”? “I don’t know if he told you, but he declined the position Organa 2020 offered.”</p>
<p>Rey gave a murmur of surprise. “Well, I guess it makes sense. He’s due for a sabbatical and he’s talked of building this grand portfolio of desert photography. He’s not a beach man.”</p>
<p>I settled on my bed. From where I sat I watched the open Twitter window on the right monitor. Tiny numbers whirred underneath the content of our latest tweet to indicate rising engagement. “I intended to talk to you next about the job, but somebody pulled rank and now it's filled.”</p>
<p>“Damn."</p>
<p>"If it's any consolation, I have no idea if the new hire is qualified. I may just have paid work available soon," I said.</p>
<p>"Sounds like a good opportunity, but I’m not sure I’d be the right one for a job like that.”</p>
<p>That took me aback. “Your work’s great. Why would you say that?”</p>
<p>“A job at Organa 2020? Too many distractions.” Her voice lowered to a near purr, vibrating through me. She had a point. Given the chance to work alongside Rey, could I keep my hands off her long enough to remember we had jobs?</p>
<p>I closed my eyes and called back two weeks ago. Her taste on my lips. Her wet warmth clamped hard around my cock.</p>
<p>“Are you wearing a dress now?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Describe it.” I snaked my free hand down to my crotch.</p>
<p>“Black, sleeveless with a jewel neckline. Stops just above the knees. Low heels, in case you’re wondering about that.”</p>
<p>“How thin is the fabric? Are the lines so smooth anyone could tell you’re naked underneath?”</p>
<p>“I'm not, though. I’m wearing a bra,” she said, almost accusingly.</p>
<p>“Same one from before?” White. Lace cups, opened at the front. The clip had disengaged easily and her breasts had spilled right into my hands... </p>
<p>“Of course.”</p>
<p>“Stockings?”</p>
<p>“Bare. You like pantyhose?” she asked.</p>
<p>I slipped my hand under the waistband of my shorts. “I like stockings. Thigh highs with elastic stays or garter straps, whichever. I’m not picky.”</p>
<p>“Interesting.” I swear I heard the smile in that one word. “What about stockings gets you all excited?”</p>
<p>I took hold of my cock, just running my thumb up and down one side to get the blood flowing. “I like the way they slide across my shoulders and along the back of my neck while I’m eating pussy,” I said. </p>
<p>“You learn that in business school?”</p>
<p>“Self-taught. You own a pair of stockings? I’ll show you a few things.”</p>
<p>“I don’t.”</p>
<p>“Check your mail next week.” Thank all things divine for Prime shipping.</p>
<p>I heard her gasp. “Holy shit.”</p>
<p>“What are you doing?” I wondered if we rode the same wavelength, each touching ourselves.</p>
<p>“I swear, this… Sasquatch of a human being just walked into the gallery.” Rey sounded awed, pretty much the reaction most people had on seeing Chewie for the first time. Who else fit that description?</p>
<p>Shit. </p>
<p>“You should see his beard. It’s like every Son of Anarchy melded together to create one big one,” she said.</p>
<p><em>Yep.</em> “Rey. I know that person. I need you to stay calm for a second.”</p>
<p>“Why, is he a hit man?” Her voice trembled. “Ben, your mother’s here. With him. That's not your dad, is it?”</p>
<p>"That's her bodyguard." I'd let go of my cock. I needed the hand for a facepalm.</p>
<p>"Running for president is that rough, huh?"</p>
<p>“Rey, please believe me, this was not my doing. She’s supposed to be in Charlotte. I don’t know why this is happening.” My words crashed together. I wanted to get in as many as possible before she hung up in disgust, but thankfully Rey remained on the line.</p>
<p>“So...you knew about this, this visit?”</p>
<p>“Two minutes before I called, yes. I meant to say something, but then you said you weren’t wearing underwear…”</p>
<p>She was silent a moment, then, “Well, that is a more pleasant topic. Ben, you don’t think she’s going to censor the show? I mean, I have your release, and you’re an adult. What am I even saying?” She dropped off, and for a moment I thought the line disconnected. More than likely, she’d relaxed her arms or focused her attention on the growing activity beyond the door.</p>
<p>“Rey. You there? I never told anyone about my participation in your show.”</p>
<p>She came back. “I'm fine. I believe you, Ben. I should probably go out there. She’s with Dr. Hause, and they’re looking around for something. Somebody. He probably told her.”</p>
<p>“You don’t owe her any explanations, Rey. Call me later, okay?” <em>If you’re still speaking to me then.</em></p>
<p>“Okay. Wish me luck.” She rang off. I poured another shot, set the glass aside, and drank from the bottle instead.</p>
<p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Rey</em>
</p>
<p>I’d come so close to fingering myself while talking with Ben. Unbelievable timing for his mother to appear at the senior art show right when the conversation rose toward a nice, sensual peak. Mothers were only supposed to spoil the moment for teenagers, bursting into their rooms without knocking.</p>
<p>I stood and straightened my dress, washed my hands, then checked my hair and teeth in the reflection of the microwave door. In the gallery, a few trustees paced along the walls to view the photos, chatting with each other and the few plus-ones brought by other students. Rose was mine, and she stood by the modest buffet messing with her phone.</p>
<p>“Finn can’t make dinner,” she said as I walked up to her. “He wants to stop by later, though.”</p>
<p>“We won’t be out that late.” I nudged for her attention. “Did you see who’s here?”</p>
<p>She looked up and followed my gaze, then gasped. “Holy… did Ben Solo send her in his place?”</p>
<p>“He said he had no knowledge of this. Apparently the senator veered off the campaign trail to look at some pictures.” Neither she nor Dr. Hause spotted us yet; to buy time, I pulled Rose over to a spot where the bartender’s setup blocked our view of the gathering. Hopefully the obstruction worked both ways.</p>
<p>I believed Ben, truly. After he put his trust in me to create art from his image, after all that incredible sex, I chose to believe he’d have warned me well in advance about this surprise visitor. I had to collect my thoughts before I made myself known, but judging from the distant voices directing Dr. Hause this way I realized that window was closing fast.</p>
<p>“Here she is. Artoo, a moment?” Dr. Hause brought Senator Leia Organa further into the gallery. She wore a dark blue pantsuit, flats, and her hair was styled in a low chignon. She looked exactly as I’d seen her on television; just a touch tired, but I could understand that. I didn’t see anything of Ben in her, and wondered if he favored his father’s side more. </p>
<p>Her companion, the silent wall of hair and leather, lingered far in the background with his back to the art, like he’d been charged to guard it. He certainly would not be mistaken for a docent.</p>
<p>Dr. Hause made the introductions, and the senator stepped forward and offered her hand. “Please forgive the intrusion, Ms. Walker. I’m not staying; in fact, I’m somewhat behind schedule,” she said. Her voice sounded deeper than in recordings. “It’s not my intention to steal attention away from this event. I know you and your peers have worked so hard to get to this point and I congratulate you.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Senator. I am honored to have you view my photos.” I then introduced Rose, who gawked speechless at first but soon warmed up to her old self and asked for a selfie, for which the woman obliged. </p>
<p>Dr. Hause hung behind as the senator and I strolled slowly toward my corner of the gallery. The photos of Ben hung in a row facing away from the entrance, while my other photos took the opposite side. What attendees occupied the space had clustered elsewhere; it was almost like the moment was rehearsed first.</p>
<p>“Ray speaks very highly of you, ah...Artoo. May I call you that?” she asked. I nodded. “And please, call me Leia. I don’t see why formalities are necessary here.”</p>
<p>“Senator...Leia… I don’t know how much, if anything, Ben told you about our photo session --” Hopefully very little about the second time I saw him naked.</p>
<p>“I’m not here to scold you, Artoo. I simply wanted to see them for myself. Also, I make it a policy to meet every person who’s seen my son naked. In person, anyway. I suspect this exhibit will ramp up those numbers.”</p>
<p>I listened for a hint of annoyance but detected nothing. The few times I watched the senator deliver a speech, I found the authority and dry humor in her voice powerful. She struck me as the kind of person who used language to her advantage -- and as a weapon, building up a person when in reality she was exposing their shortcomings. It’s why I assumed she’d easily hand President Palpatine his ass during their every debate.</p>
<p>Her gaze fell on the trio of Bens and she touched her fingers to her chin -- the portrait of a serious critic. I stayed a step behind her, unsure of whether or not to explain the theme. During past exhibits I waited for questions; with the senator, I pondered whether any commentary might soften any harsh words she’d prepared.</p>
<p>When she said, “These are very good,” the clamps choking my insides loosened. I felt my shoulders sag and straightened again as she turned toward me. “I wasn’t certain what to expect. I was in the middle of reviewing a speech for a rally in Charlotte tomorrow when Dr. Hause called. Somewhere in between his declining a temporary job and talk of the convention it comes out that Ben did more than drop off a check at his studio.”</p>
<p>“He was very kind to help when I had...issues with my original model.” Had Ray mentioned walking in on our standoff? I suspected their talk of Ben stretched longer than a simple, <em>by the way, your son posed nude for my grad assistant</em>. The senator’s attention, drawn away from the photos, now fixed firmly on my face. </p>
<p>“My son possesses a good soul. As a child he asked for dollar bills to give to the homeless we’d encounter. Helped out at shelters for his volunteer hours in high school,” she said, a smile curving her lips. </p>
<p>“The way he talked, I sensed he was the type to never meet a stranger,” I said, thinking more of the flirty girl from the empanada truck than people in need.</p>
<p>“One day he’ll end up running a non-profit and make the world a better place. He may tell you he’s not contributing much to my campaign, but he’s a crucial part of my team. I won’t lie and say Dr. Hause’s revelation didn’t worry me, but now that I’ve seen your work,” she glanced once more at the photos then turned to my other set, “I’m rather relieved.”</p>
<p>“No shame in the human body,” I said, turning to view my work. Definitely not Ben’s. I kept that to myself.</p>
<p>“What happens to these after the show?”</p>
<p>“They come home with me. I’ll display other photos on a website I’m having built, but I’m happy to defer posting the Ben series if he requests it.”</p>
<p>"You won't sell them?" she asked. "I overheard another student saying she had offers."</p>
<p>"I will likely sell the nature shots. The others," I looked at the middle Ben photo, "I'm undecided. I may keep them for my next venture, whatever that is."</p>
<p>“I appreciate your volunteering to hide them away, Artoo, but it’s your work. I know Ben signed a release. Display them wherever and whenever you see fit.” She leaned closer. “If I win the election, I’ll talk to somebody at the National Portrait Gallery. We’ll hang these next Palpatine’s ugly mug.”</p>
<p>I let out a bark of laughter and immediately apologized, but the senator was clearly enjoying herself. When a melodic ringtone cut through our merriment she sighed. “My husband. I’ve put off this call long enough,” she said. “I won’t keep you, dear. Congratulations again on your master’s.”</p>
<p>I thanked her just as she answered, her voice carrying throughout the gallery with her slow retreat. I caught bits of one-sided conversation. <em>I never said I cancelled the rally, Han, just tonight’s dinner with the governor. Don’t you ever listen?</em> Dr. Hause joined her and, while she waved and nodded silent goodbyes with the phone pinned to her ear, guided her toward the exit.</p>
<p>She tapped her silent man-mountain companion on the chest. He directed his gaze at me; even from the distance, I caught the wisp of a smile under that beard before he saluted and left.</p>
<p>Rose came up to me. “How much did she offer you to destroy every copy?”</p>
<p>“She didn’t. She praised my work.” I looked back at the Bens, perishing the thought of erasing these images from existence. Though she accepted that I reserved the right to use them in my online portfolio, I decided then and there to keep them private after this showing. These surpassed my previous life shots, obviously, but they represented something more than a degree and a photography credit to exploit for my career.</p>
<p>I fixed on the shot of Ben clinging to the chain link fence. I remembered how he seemed to take cues from my directions and delivered that serious, pained expression. Naked and afraid, yearning to escape. It was the message I’d hoped to convey and he executed it perfectly. I said as much aloud.</p>
<p>“What about that one?” Rose pointed to the shot of Ben standing with his back to the camera, the chain link shadowed over his skin.</p>
<p>“It’s supposed to show that while one can escape what imprisons us, sometimes a piece stays imprinted,” I said. “I wish the senator hadn’t rushed off. I would have loved to tell her.”</p>
<p>Rose shrugged. “This is her only child, the love of her life. It couldn’t have been easy looking at nude photos of him in this context.”</p>
<p>“It’s not like they’re sexual.”</p>
<p>My friend snorted. “Rey, these are totally sexual. Ben Solo was a snack before, but your camera elevated him to gourmet.” She tapped my shoulder. “Hey, it’s time.”</p>
<p>I checked my phone. Seven sharp. People filed in for the opening reception. Kaydel and Beaumont waved and started our way, and Rose intercepted them.</p>
<p>I used the free moment to dash off a text to Ben. <em>Your mother left, I survived.</em> </p>
<p>The typing bubble erupted, then a video clip appeared. I checked my volume before playing. The video filled my screen; from Ben’s POV, I spied on an older gentleman talking on his phone. Ben filmed this through a sliver of space from an opened door, if I guessed the angle correctly. </p>
<p>I realized this was Ben’s dad, Han Solo. <em>What the hell are you doing at some art school? That wasn’t a scheduled stop.</em> Pause. <em>You said he turned down the job, so what? You went to convince him in person?</em> </p>
<p>Pause. <em>What about Ben?</em></p>
<p>
  <em>HE DID WHAT?!</em>
</p>
<p>Ben’s father looked toward the camera, mouth agape. That’s how the clip ended.</p>
<p>More bubbles appeared, then: <em>I think I’m grounded. I’ll let you know.</em> Wink emoji.</p>
<p>I pocketed my phone as Kaydel sidled up to me. "They are amazing," she said, squeezing my shoulders. "I was so ticked when you refused to let us peek before the show, but this reveal is awesome."</p>
<p>I made sure Beau stood out of earshot. "Are they everything you imagined?"</p>
<p>"Gorgeous, but don't worry. I'm still madly in love and getting married," she said. "What about you? You have a hot <em>Dear Penthouse</em> story to go with them?"</p>
<p>"I'll tell you after dinner."</p>
<p>I bit my lip to silence my pain from where her fingernails dug into my arms.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Ben - Where You Been?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Ben goes for a long, late night drive.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dad turned away and continued his conversation. “No, just get on the bus and get to Charlotte. Call me when you’re settled. I’ll talk to him.”</p>
<p>I closed my door and picked up the full, untouched shot. Dad burst in and I handed it to him. He downed it like water and slammed the glass on my desk.</p>
<p>“Hell of a time to go into porn, son.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps you ought to look at the photos before you toss out labels.” I called up the photo from Rey’s text. “In the middle one you can’t even see --”</p>
<p>Dad pushed my phone away. “I'm good, thanks. What the hell were you thinking, posing for nude photos? Your mother is trying to convince voters of her ability to run this country, and meanwhile you’re trying to undermine everything we’ve put into her campaign.”</p>
<p>He slouched down into my desk chair and rubbed his forehead. Somewhere during the rant, Armitage had sidled close to lean against the doorframe, no doubt pleased not to be the focus of an argument.</p>
<p>“How is my assisting a graduate art student with a life study ruining Mother’s campaign?” I asked of him. </p>
<p>“You know what people are going to say, Ben. How can Leia Organa run an entire country when she can’t rein in her son when he pulls stupid stunts? We’re not the Royal Family, it’s not like we get eternal passes for bad behavior.”</p>
<p>“I did nothing wrong, bad, or stupid,” I said. “This isn’t a scandal. Misappropriation of campaign funds is a scandal. Sexual harassment of staff is a scandal. We’ve always played a clean fight at Mother’s insistence, even with Palpatine and Ackbar’s camp taking potshots.”</p>
<p>“None of which stick,” Dad muttered. “The old man’s desperate, too. He’s gonna crow loud about this.”</p>
<p>“So let him,” I said and poured one more. “If Ackbar or Palpatine think my bare ass disqualifies Mother from the White House, I’m sure she’s prepared a comeback guaranteed to make them look like complete assholes.”</p>
<p>Dad took the glass from me. “Ackbar’s okay. Palpatine does well enough on his own to come off like a ghoul.”<br/>“Did Mother say she was upset?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Then nothing is ruined.” I glanced at my smirking roommate. “Go ahead. I can see you’re about to explode.”</p>
<p>“You know, I admire you, literally laying yourself bare,” Armie said. “I may be a ‘walking hormone,’ as you elegantly put it earlier, but even I don’t have the guts to display the goods like that. I have a question, though?”</p>
<p>I waited.</p>
<p>“What’s her name?”</p>
<p>“Of course.” Dad snapped his fingers. “Always a girl involved. Hope she was worth it.”</p>
<p><em>Definitely</em>. “Do you need a ride home?” I asked the Captain. A tipsy would-be First Gentleman weaving through D.C.-area traffic posed more of a detriment than anything I’d done in front of Rey’s camera.</p>
<p>“I took a cab here. I’ll get another one.”</p>
<p>“No, you won’t, sir.” Armitage stepped further in. “I was heading out to CVS anyway. I’ll drop you off.”</p>
<p>Dad acquiesced and rose. “Fine. I’ll grab my food.” He pointed at me. “We’re not done talking about this.”</p>
<p>I played the chastised son and hung my head. Once he was out I slumped into my chair to refresh all our feeds. Armie lingered behind and brought the door to near close without engaging the latch. “What <em>is</em> her name?”</p>
<p>“Rey. R-E-Y. If you meet a woman with that name, I’ll thank you to back off.”</p>
<p>“Rey Walker?”</p>
<p>My tongue thickened in my mouth. I barely got out my next words. “How did you…?”</p>
<p>He pointed to my screen. “There’s a Rey Walker trending, underneath your name.”</p>
<p>I looked. There we were, hot topics on Twitter, having usurped the top position from a former president’s endorsement of my mother.</p>
<p>Armie slapped me on the shoulder. “You want me to pick up a fresh bottle on the way back?”</p>
<p>“Please.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>I clicked my name first. Photos of tonight’s show flooded the search feed. On the outset, it appeared as though hundreds of people had attended and each posted a shot of the Ben Solo trilogy. Turned out, a handful of people had done so, and the rest of the world felt compelled to retweet with their own observations.</p>
<p>
  <em>We’ve been sleeping on Ben Solo, y’all.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Damn, Ben Solo. Where you been?</em>
</p>
<p>On it went. I scrolled through the commentary and GIF reactions and heart-eyed emojis, unsure of how to feel. Was I flattered, uncomfortable? Moreover, what was Rey thinking of all of this? She mentioned distancing herself from social media, so I imagined the attention didn’t impact her much. For now.</p>
<p>I clicked through to the search results under her name. People wanted to know more about her, how she came to photograph a would-be First Son. Others complimented her work and blessed her “good luck.” I saw no speculation on the other side of our relationship, and that relieved me. For one, we needed to define it and determine how it would continue. </p>
<p>Because I’d be asked that question. Rey, too. It surprised me that my phone didn’t immediately ring.</p>
<p>I texted Rey. <em>I’m good here. How are you?</em></p>
<p>It took a few minutes, but Rey revealed the show’s success. She and her friends were on their way to dinner. Throughout our brief conversation, I detected nothing to imply her knowledge of the online chatter, or the fact that people worldwide circulated her photos. I thought of telling her, but decided she deserved a night free of headaches. Eventually, a friend would loop her in and I would help deal with the aftermath.</p>
<p>
  <em>Call me when you’re home if you like. I’ll be up. </em>
</p>
<p><em>If I don’t drink too much.</em> Beer emoji. <em>I know there’s still much about underwear to discuss.</em></p>
<p>At least she was in a good mood.</p>
<p>Three seconds later, my mother’s face filled the screen and her ring shattered the silence. “I quit,” I said in greeting.</p>
<p>“I know you’re angry, Ben. I didn’t call to berate or shame you. I just want to talk.”</p>
<p>The rye hit hard and blurred the text on my monitors. I turned the chair away and focused on a framed poster of a past Cherry Blossom festival to stave off the nausea. The gentle pink and white colors proved easier on my drying eyes. </p>
<p>“Please start by explaining why you detoured off the campaign trail to investigate an innocuous art school photography exhibit.” Sheer will kept my voice even and cool.</p>
<p>“You’re still my son, Ben. If I live to be a hundred, I’ll worry about you,” she said. “I also felt if I put in an appearance, however brief it was, it may temper any criticism that arises from our detractors.”</p>
<p>“It’s none of their damn business, but whatever. You want people to believe you endorsed this show?”</p>
<p>“I want people to know I support my son.”</p>
<p>I sighed. “My posing for Rey Walker wasn’t an attempt to rebel or go viral. I volunteered to model for her. Can you honestly say your being at the show didn’t contribute to the publicity it’s getting?”</p>
<p>“I’m not the name trending right now, Ben. I saw Twitter, for a few seconds,” she said. “How much of it is negative?”</p>
<p>I turned back and resumed scrolling the tweets. Mostly innuendo and high-fives, but I spotted a few disparaging remarks. “There’s a lady in Kansas who says you lost her vote thanks to me.”</p>
<p>“Check her bio. I bet there’s some kind of Palpatine hashtag on it,” Mother said. “Ben, we won’t lose voters. Anybody clutching their pearls about this...we never had their votes to begin with. If anything, my being there tonight was added insurance. In a few days, some pop star will fall drunk out of a limo and the pointed fingers will change direction.”</p>
<p>Pop star. Shit. I refreshed the trends and, sure enough, saw one trending.</p>
<p>“Now they’re posting about Phas, wondering what she thinks.” We hadn’t talked in months; why anybody cared for her opinion now confused me.</p>
<p>“Like Phasma gives a damn.” Mother’s voice turned harsh. “She cares about herself and only herself. Not you, not a photo exhibit, and not that delightful young woman you slept with a few weeks ago.”</p>
<p>I reached for the bottle. “Why do you think --”</p>
<p>“I know, Ben. One look in her eyes and I knew right away. Artists are proud of their work, but reading her body language around those photos...she was almost protective of them. She definitely didn’t glow around those shots of trees.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Rey glowed? I had to smile.</p>
<p>“I also suspect your volunteering wasn’t a hundred percent out of the goodness of your heart,  either,” she said. “She’s a lovely person, and you noticed.”</p>
<p>“I know… So, you couldn’t have just tracked down her e-mail…?”</p>
<p>“Ben, if you were more like Armitage, I’d have gone on to Charlotte without a second thought. He’d have posed, banged the girl, and moved on to the next one. Not that I approve of his behavior, mind you, but I’m not his mother. I can frown him down but that's about it. I <em>can</em>, though, tell you what I feel and know. I know you don't sleep around.”</p>
<p>"Maybe I'm a late bloomer."</p>
<p>"Ben, come on."</p>
<p>My mother told no lies. Of course, prior to meeting Rey I’d had two serious relationships and several evenings out with women, all arranged by their respective PR teams. None of those were designed to rise beyond a goodnight peck at the door.</p>
<p>Strike that. The publicity machine paired me with Phasma last year after she performed at one of Mother’s fundraisers. A platonic post-concert outing turned serious over time, and we didn't combust sexually like I had with Rey. I thought the feelings were mutual, but once Phas realized her life wouldn’t improve no matter who ran the country, she ghosted me for a man with better connections in entertainment. Her legion of fans, self-dubbed the Phasmatics, blamed me for the breakup, seeing as how their queen could do no wrong. </p>
<p>“Understand that when I realized you’d done two of the three I had to attend that show,” Mother was saying. “You’re in love with her?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.” Rey would say the same, I’d bet. Which was fine; we were new.</p>
<p>“You like her?”</p>
<p>“Very much.”</p>
<p>“Well, that’s something,” Mother said. “She’s about to become famous, Ben, and lord knows if she’s ready to handle it.”</p>
<p>“I know what you’re getting at, Mother. I started this, I guess, and I’ll see it through. I’m there for Rey in any capacity she wants.” It sounded clinical coming out of my mouth, but the idea of Rey scrutinized in the press rankled me. The mere act of her using a camera on me ignited mass curiosity, and I honestly hadn’t expected her to receive so much attention. I hoped for something else to draw their attention.</p>
<p>Rooting for a pop star to fuck up and knock us out of the news cycle seemed cruel, though.</p>
<p>“On top of worrying about the extra press, we have the convention coming up,” she said. “Why don’t you take a few days off before Vegas, Ben? Let Jacen or somebody else on the social team watch over things. There’s no reason to address you or Rey on our accounts since the topic isn’t relevant to the election. Let people ask, but I’ll leave it to the two of you to decide if you want to make any statements.”</p>
<p>I listened to the words unsaid. <em>Go to the beach. Explore what could be with that delightful young woman. Decide if it’s real.</em></p>
<p>“Okay, Mother. I’ll set it up and I’ll call you in a few days.” We hung up after a few I love yous. </p>
<p>Checking comments on our last tweet about President Kenobi’s endorsement, I saw talk of Rey’s photos had steered the topic away from actual politics. Now everybody seemed more interested in what the old man thought of his godson showing the goods.</p>
<p>Given that we talked at least once a month, I expected a call. Surely the remaining family, small as it is, had thoughts and words for me. Right now, I cared about those of one person.</p>
<p>
  <em>Hey, boss. You free to talk?</em>
</p>
<p>Rey answered after a minute. <em>I will be. Heading home in a few. Are you grounded?</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Quite the opposite. Got a short vacation. It’s three and a half hours to the beach from here. Just say the word.</em>
</p>
<p>Seconds ticked by, almost to a minute. Then, <em>the word.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>I’ll book a room, same place. Will text the no. when I check in.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Why? Stay here.</em>
</p>
<p>The idea was to enjoy a break, not be a burden. Rey talked of her roommate and her circle of friends, always over there. It made more sense for me to be out of the way and available on her time, but Rey’s texts revealed she wasn’t having it.</p>
<p>
  <em>Rose’s bf stays over a lot. She’ll be fine with you here.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m thinking more of discretion.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You check into a hotel, you’ll be on everybody’s radar.</em>
</p>
<p>Before I could respond, she added, <em>Holdo showed me the tweets at dinner. We’ll lay low here.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>You still don’t know if I’m a serial killer or not.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>All my sex toys are here. I’ll just bludgeon you with the largest one.</em>
</p>
<p><em>omw</em>, I replied.</p>
<p>But first, coffee. A First Son pulled over for a DUI meant more trouble to a campaign than photos of a naked one hanging in an art school gallery. I put a pod of the strongest blend we had in the Keurig and called up my flight schedule to Vegas. After some finagling and mild cussing I managed to change my departure and return airport to Norfolk, after which I set to packing. </p>
<p>When Armie returned with my bottle, I stowed it in the kitchen and started on my coffee. “I also need to borrow your car for a few days,” I said after I explained my plans.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong with yours?”</p>
<p>“I’ve created enough publicity for Rey. If somebody recognizes my car in town, the media won’t back off.”</p>
<p>Armie folded his arms. “So if they see my car there…”</p>
<p>“Nobody will care because who gives a damn about speechwriters?” I smiled at him.</p>
<p>“So my car will be in a strange town the whole time we’re in Vegas?”</p>
<p>“In a long-term airport garage, which is safer than the curb.” I nodded toward my window, overlooking the main drag.</p>
<p>“It’s better to fly and rent a car. It’s an hour by air.”</p>
<p>“Last flight out of Reagan was hours ago. There isn’t another one until morning and I don’t want to wait for it.” I tossed clothes haphazardly into my case. I only needed one decent suit for the trip, for when Mother accepted the nomination and gathered the team onstage. I’d be behind the scenes for much of the Vegas trip, hopefully out of sight.</p>
<p>“All the same, why put the miles on my car --”</p>
<p>I held up the fob to my Tesla. Armie’s eyes widened. He often called my car a chick magnet and I never believed him. Thinking back to how the car impressed Rey, though, I wondered if his words held some truth.</p>
<p>“Trade ya.”</p>
<p>He shook his head in disbelief. “You won’t even let your father touch that car, and he’s a three-time racing champion.”</p>
<p>“Take Sheila for a ride one night. That ought to make up for earlier today.”</p>
<p>“You must really like this girl,” he muttered, tossing me his keys.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Rey - The Lady, The Tramp</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which three friends sit around a table and talk about sex...but there's no cheesecake.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I turned to Rose, gauging her expression in the dark. “Ben Solo will be here in less than four hours.”</p><p>She braked abruptly, though the light ahead shone a stale green. I grasped the vase of Ben’s flowers tightly to keep the water from spilling. The car behind us hit the horn and swerved left. Rose resumed the speed limit as they sped past, the front passenger holding a middle finger aloft.</p><p>“You’re kidding.”</p><p>“He offered to book a room but I said to stay at our place. Shit, I never told him where we live.” I started texting our address but paused. “Am I crazy to do this? I mean, technically we’ve known each other for a few weeks but face to face we had that one day…”</p><p>Rose shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s different in a way, though. He’s a public figure, not somebody off the street. Plus people hang out online for months and become good friends without ever meeting.”</p><p>“True. Ray sort of knows the family, too. Surely he’d have warned me if he thought Ben was unscrupulous.” </p><p>“I can ask Finn to stay over if that would make you feel better.”</p><p>“I’ll be fine either way,” I said, and realized the hot mess Ben would walk into in about three hours. I hadn’t planned to clean the house this late. I sighed.</p><p>“It was different last time. We shared neutral territory,” I told Rose. “Inviting somebody to your home creates a new level of intimacy. I wonder if it’s too soon for that.”</p><p>“Could be. I mean, it’s not like you slept with him right after you met.”</p><p>Silence. She glanced at me for a second. “Right?” she asked.</p><p>More silence.</p><p>This time Rose pulled off into a shopping center parking lot and made much of shifting into park and switching off the radio.</p><p>She turned in her seat. The glow of the overhead lights made her inquisitive expression appear sinister. “You didn’t!”</p><p>I met her face with a smile that felt weak. </p><p>“And you're worried about intimacy? You said <em>absolutely nothing</em> about it, all this time. You tell me everything!”</p><p>“Nobody knew. To be honest, I initially wrote it off as a one-time thing, a nice secret for myself. Then he said he wanted to see me again, I wanted it as well, and here we are.” Of course, that text had thrilled me. We obviously had a connection; at least we’d have the opportunity to explore further and know for certain if we had more in common than mutual lust.</p><p>“So he’s not crashing on the couch, I take it?”</p><p>“That’s up to him.” Safe to say, we were both thinking I hoped not.</p><p>Rose shook her head. “That’s not like you, Rey. You’re not the tramp.”</p><p>“The tramp?”</p><p>Rose shifted back into drive and eased us out of the lot. “It’s the rule of four. Most of these TV shows where the core cast is made up of four people -- each represents a specific archetype.” Keeping her eyes on the road, she ticked off examples on one hand. “The smart one, the ditz, the funny one, the tramp. In our group, I figured Holdo for the tramp.”</p><p>“Really? Holdo likes to flirt, but you honestly believe she’d sleep with a guy on the first date?”</p><p>“Well, maybe not the <em>first</em> date. Plus, compared to the rest of us...”</p><p>“You ever tell her this to her face?” I asked.</p><p>Rose laughed. “She’d be the first to agree.”</p><p>I watched so little television these days, but remembered enough of classic sitcom culture to understand where Rose was headed. “Who am I then?”</p><p>“I thought you were smart one, but now…”</p><p>“Careful,” I warned.</p><p>“He wore a condom?”</p><p>I nodded. “Well, that was smart,” Rose said.</p><p>“Who are you, Rose?”</p><p>“Not the tramp.”</p><p>“One can’t be a hybrid of two traits?” I asked. “A smart woman who, in a moment of passion, embraces her inner tramp? Why paint people in absolutes?”</p><p>“Television was rather formulaic back then.” Rose turned down our street, at the end of which stood our apartment complex. “I don’t know. I thought you only got a good look at him, and now I have to process this.”</p><p>“You’ll get to meet him. He’s nice.”</p><p>“And all I’ll see is his di-- oh, there’s Finn behind us.”</p><p>I checked the rear view and recognized Finn’s car and vanity plate. Ahead of us, the Mini belonging to Holdo -- we never used her first name, her rule -- was parked in our allotted guest space. She and Kay leaned against one side.</p><p>“Did you ask them over for drinks and I missed it?” Rose asked. “I thought Kay worked in the morning.”</p><p>“No. I was about to ask you the same thing.” </p><p>Holdo spoke up before either of us got in a word. “So what’s this I hear about you banging my president’s son?” She held up a bottle of flavored vodka. “No hedging. We’ll get the truth out of you yet.”</p><p>I remembered my promise to Kay at the gallery and groaned. My mind reeled over where to hide Ben’s car when he arrived as well, but that thought disappeared the moment Rose slapped my shoulder. “You said you told nobody!”</p><p>“When it happened, because it was my business. Oh, hi, Finn!” I raised my voice as Rose’s gentleman friend rounded his car to join us. “You up for a drink?”</p><p>“And some truth or dare?” Kay snarked.</p><p>He looked uncomfortable, more so than usual. Any given day, Finn held his own when outnumbered by Rose’s crew, but I detected a tension in his face that hinted this was not a romantic call. Nothing in the way Rose moved toward him or talked led me to believe she suspected something wrong.</p><p>“You mind if I borrow Rose for a while? I’m sorry to have missed the show and dinner. I hope it went well, Rey,” he told me.</p><p>Apparently, he hadn’t seen Twitter. No doubt we’d cover that topic, too. “Thanks. We’ll be upstairs. Join us later if you like.” My friends led the way to my second-story walk-up while I watched Finn escort my roommate to his car. In this strange chain of events, that concerned me most… odd considering nearly the whole world knew my current business. </p><p>I set Ben’s flowers on our small round dining table. I then gathered rocks glasses and ice, plus whatever else I had that mixed well enough with whipped cream vodka. “How do you drink this stuff, Holdo? It’s too sweet.”</p><p>Holdo brushed back a lock of her colored hair, tucking it behind her ear. “It’s my one indulgence. I’m not a dessert person so I make up for it at the bar. Pass the orange juice, please?” She proceeded to mix Creamsicle screwdrivers for herself and Kay. “You’re not drinking?”</p><p>I thought of Rose and wondered what she and Finn were discussing. I intended to stay sober until Ben arrived, but used the night’s show as my excuse. “I’m worn out. I was hoping to go straight to bed.”</p><p>“You did that two weeks ago. Give us details,” Kay demanded.</p><p>“Rose will kill me if I start without her.”</p><p>“Rose may not come back tonight. Finn probably took her to his place.” Holdo sipped her drink. “If she returns anytime soon, just repeat the story and we’ll act surprised.”</p><p>“What’s to tell? I had sex with a man. You both know what that’s like. And,” I poured a glass of juice, “given you saw his equipment, there’s no point in exaggerating specifics.”</p><p>Holdo folded her arms on the table and leaned in. “Have we taught you nothing? It isn’t necessary to embellish a sex story if the sex was good. We all saw his equipment, yes, but can he wield it?”</p><p>“Wield? Seriously?” I glanced at Kay, glass at her lip and nearly blowing out spiked juice. I failed to contain my laughter, and minutes passed before we all calmed down. Once I recovered, I told the whole story. Sitting on his lap while he treated the wasp sting, the empanada girl testing the turf, how he excelled at WAP and how we didn’t make it to the bed. They seemed to like that part of the story best.</p><p>Holdo pressed her glass to her forehead in mock cooldown. “Was that so difficult?”</p><p>“I’m not an erotica writer. My medium is photography.”</p><p>“Did you take any --” she began.</p><p>“No. And I won’t next time, either.”</p><p>My friends stared me down. </p><p>Shit. “We’re talking about meeting up again.” Not one word about how he’d walk through that door in a few hours, otherwise they’d never leave.</p><p>“In Vegas?” Kay asked. Her smile inexplicably drooped.</p><p>“Uh, no. I mean, I know he’ll be there for his party’s convention, but that’s not the...same...week… is it?”</p><p>I grabbed my phone and searched the dates. “It’s the same week.” How did I not realize that? In every conversation I had with Ben about his upcoming trip, he neglected to mention actual dates. I hadn’t bothered to check for myself because I’d assumed conventions occurred later in the year. “How were you able to book our room?” I asked Holdo. “You’d think with an event that big in town, the hotels would sell out.”</p><p>“It’s Vegas. There’s always room,” she said. “If it means anything, I didn’t realize it either until a few weeks ago. Hell of a happy accident for you, huh?”</p><p>“You’re gonna bail on us and hook up with him during my last girls’ trip before the wedding?” Kay sounded hurt, and I totally got it. The four of us planned our itinerary down to the minute -- spa day, pool time, shows and general mayhem. This time wasn’t about me.</p><p>“I’m not. I promise. Ben doesn’t even know about us going,” I said, then, “If I tell him, he’ll have to understand I won’t be free.”</p><p>Holdo drained her glass, and rubbed Kay’s shoulder. “Besides, that convention will keep him busy. Big as Vegas is, we probably won’t run into him at all.”</p><p>“You said if.” Kay reached for my hand. “Don’t feel like you have to lie to him to spare my feelings. You should be transparent with Ben. He’ll want to know you’re there when he is.”</p><p>“You’re that certain?” Holdo sounded skeptical.</p><p>“It makes sense. They’re talking about getting together again. Right, Rey?”</p><p>Transparency was the issue, though. How much to give? I welcomed Ben into my home, very likely my bed, but what would come of it in the future? Oh, certainly we’d have a great time together, but my speculations from our first meeting resurfaced. Potential relationship or short-term fling?</p><p>When I posed these thoughts to my friends:</p><p>“Fling,” said Holdo.</p><p>“Relationship,” said Kay.</p><p>They glared at each other. “Hey, she’s about to get her master’s,” Holdo said. “Let her figure out her future before she surrenders it completely to a guy she just met.”</p><p>“She can have a full professional life and a partner.” Kay held up the hand with her engagement ring.</p><p>“Or, she and Ben can enjoy the hell out of each other and return to their corners. Live in the moment and move on to the next adventure.”</p><p>“Wow. Rose was right,” I said to Holdo. “You <em>are</em> the tramp in our foursome.”</p><p>“You’re damn right I am.” Holdo slapped the table. “Why the hell did you have to meet him first?”</p><p>“And you,” I looked at Kay, “said I should have an affair with him. Now you’re rooting for something deeper than that?”</p><p>“Wait a minute.” Holdo reached for the bottle but I moved it away. She was driving. “You only slept with the guy because <em>Kay</em> said to?”</p><p>I’d slept with Ben because the moment I looked up from my camera, seeing him in his underwear, had triggered a surge of want. “No.”</p><p>“Either way, good for you.” Holdo toasted me with a glass of melting ice.</p><p>Kay pushed away her drink. “Rey, I saw the look in your eyes every time somebody asked you about his photos. That’s how Beau looks at me. I don’t get ‘temporary’ from that. You know, maybe you ought to take a night and meet him while we’re there. See what comes of it.”</p><p>“Kay, no,” I said, taking their empty glasses to the sink. “I’ll have time enough to sort out my feelings for Ben. This is your trip. It wouldn’t be fair, either. Rose won’t have Finn, you won’t have Beau, and Holdo won’t have…” I gestured, giving her the volley.</p><p>“The Yankees,” she finished, tossing back her lavender-hued hair.</p><p>The microwave clock let me know I had a few hours to straighten up the apartment. No sign of Rose or Finn after a quick check from the living room window overlooking the parking lot. “Okay, you ladies got your dirty story. Let me get out of this dress and into bed, please? This day took more out of me than I expected.”</p><p>“It’s only just beginning, too.” Holdo held up her phone. “People are still tweeting about you.”</p><p>She, Kay and Rose had sworn to not sharing Ben’s photos in social, yet I couldn’t stop anybody else attending the show from turning the exhibit viral. So long as reporters weren’t lurking the bushes I really didn’t care. “It’ll blow over,” I said, mainly to speak that wish into existence. “People have short attention spans now, and I’m not a celebrity. This will pass.”</p><p>“Or maybe not,” Kay said with a hopeful smile. “But I promise not to talk to the press.”</p><p>“Me, depends on how much they pay,” Holdo said, and laughed as a sign of kidding when I fixed her with a stare.</p><p>My friends finally acknowledged it was time to go. Both had early days at their jobs, taking weekend shifts to cover for our time off, and we hugged goodnight. </p><p>Kay followed Holdo out the door, saying, “If you’re the tramp, am I the smart one?”</p><p>“Doubt it. You’re the one getting married.”</p><p>I closed the door on their exchange, unable to hear the ensuing argument. I then walked to my window and watched Holdo’s car roll smoothly out of the complex, comforted that she hadn’t overdone it on the vodka, and set to preparing for Ben’s arrival.</p><p>Mainly I wiped down counters and collected laundry, tidied my bathroom and changed the sheets. Rose was the neat roommate, well set into her nursing career without homework to distract her. All through my chores, I contemplated leaving on my black dress to give Ben the visual to match our earlier phone call, but when I finished cleaning I was feeling sticky and gross. So into the hamper it went before a quick shower and change into yoga pants and a t-shirt.</p><p>Ben texted his location as I was toweling off. Two hours ETA, leaving me to sit and introspect. Dangerous.</p><p>How I wanted a drink.</p><p>Instead I put the time to good use building my website. Given my new trending status on Twitter, it stood to reason people would search for me elsewhere. As far as social media went, I used Instagram for my photography and eschewed other platforms. With virtually no family and all my friends within reach, I didn’t see the point in having a profile. At first.</p><p>This newfound fame, I acknowledged, could force me into setting up accounts if only to discourage imposters. Starting with Twitter, I set up a handle and linked it from my site to confirm authenticity. Rather than use a photo of myself for the avatar, I chose one of the colorful flora from the butterfly garden on Hoth’s campus -- a favorite spot on days I craved an escape from the stress of academia. I devoted so much time to prettying up my profile, though, words failed me when it came to my debut tweet. Browsing trending hashtags related to me inspired more speechlessness. </p><p>One major gossip site’s account offered a link to their latest news item. I clicked through to a gigantic headline -- <strong>BEN “SOLO” NO MORE?</strong> -- and a photo of Ben, mobile phone quality, shot from the side. He was at an automated checkout stand at the drugstore, and a thick-lined red circle indicated the condoms he was placing in the bag.</p><p>The article, such as it was, covered the art show and featured quotes from “reliable sources” who apparently felt comfortable telling the world of my photography skills and of the probability of my being Ben’s new gal pal. It read in part:</p><p>
  <em>A tipster engaged in some late night shopping also reached out to us with the above photograph. “I admit I did a double-take when I saw [Ben Solo] in the men’s health aisle,” confided our source. “I mean, who else not in the NBA is that tall?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Our friend snapped this photo initially to show friends, thinking his soon-to-be (pretty please) Commander-In-Chief mother was also in town to win voters. Cool celebrity sighting, we get it. Now that we’ve all seen more of Ben than we ever dreamed, it’s obvious somebody got up close and personal, and they used protection.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Was that someone a certain art photographer? </em>
</p><p>
  On the innuendo went, capped by an offer of cash for more credible tips to my coupling with Ben. How soon, I wondered, would the night clerks at his hotel chime in? Or Camille the empanada girl?
</p><p>
  Glob forbid, Ray, or any of my friends?
</p><p>
  I moved to close my laptop when I saw a red dot appear on one of my browser tabs. Despite an empty Twitter and no fanfare, people found me.
</p><p>
  
    <em>That you, Walker? Be honest, should we be calling him Big Ben?</em>
  
</p><p>
Close laptop. Open fridge.
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Ben & Rey - An Affair To Remember</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which an affair begins.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Ben</em>
</p>
<p>Somewhere between Richmond and Williamsburg, I stopped to refuel and walk off the stiffness. I wasn’t used to driving Armie’s car -- no matter how far back I set the driver’s seat, I felt confined. Yet, I endured the discomfort so as not to prolong the trip. Thick traffic between home and here did enough of that.</p>
<p>I caught a few prolonged stares at the pump and in the store while buying water. I concluded tonight had been slow for every single diversion on the planet if people picked up on Rey’s photos so quickly.</p>
<p>The young woman at the service counter slid my receipt toward me. “Saw you on the Internet. Nice ass,” she said.</p>
<p>“Thanks.” <em>I think I’ll keep it.</em> “Vote Organa in November,” I added on the way out.</p>
<p>I let Rey know I was closer and she responded with her address, which I plugged into my GPS app. The route took me away from the touristy oceanfront and toward a stretch of Chesapeake Bay populated with more townhomes and condos than hotels. It may have looked more beachy at one point in time, but I recalled Rey had mentioned a rise in development since she came to the area. Few hints of laid back beach kitsch remained in one or two bars with open-air seating.</p>
<p>I parked next to her car and, like she asked, texted her. She replied with directions to her walk-up and a request to “walk fast,” right about the time an outdoor light illuminated on the landing of her floor. We didn’t quite match that football tackle of a first kiss in the elevator, but Rey’s greeting was no less enthusiastic.</p>
<p>We broke free and she slid down my front, arms tight around my waist. “Would you like to have an affair?”</p>
<p>“Sure, boss. Which room is yours?” I bent to scoop her up but she backed away, laughing.</p>
<p>“In good time, come on. Let’s talk like civilized beings first. This all you brought?” She tapped the small duffel bag still slung over my shoulder.</p>
<p>“Everything else is in the car. I haven’t ruled out getting a room...for more privacy,” I said as Rey led me deeper into her home. It looked like a typical roommate plan with a central living area and hallways at either end leading to bedroom suites. Similar to what I shared with Armie, but Rey and Rose seemed to have more room in addition to more furnishings -- a look that spoke more of home than my poor attempt at adulting. Plants that weren’t dead, photos of friends in frames, a faint scent of something floral and clean. My place had none of it.</p>
<p>“You should rethink that,” she said, and invited me to the sofa. “Somebody took this of you at the CVS that night.” She pulled up a gossip site on her laptop. “Tell me what you think of this.”</p>
<p>I scanned the article and the photo of me buying rubbers. “Poorly written. Your pictures were better.”</p>
<p>“Thank you. If you check into a hotel, you won’t be able to get through the lobby in the morning.” She tapped the call for tips.</p>
<p>“It’s okay. I was hoping to sleep in, maybe not leave bed until it’s time to fly out.” I set the computer on her coffee table and pulled her close, and while she returned the hug I definitely felt her stiffen.</p>
<p>“I forget you’re probably used to the media stalking you.” Her voice broke a bit. “The idea of people changing their votes because of my photos doesn’t inspire confidence.”</p>
<p>She snuggled closer and I brushed my lips in her hair. “If people decide not to vote for my mother, I can assure you it’s not because of us. I get what you’re saying about the hotel, though, and I appreciate you letting me crash here...if it’s okay with your roommate.”</p>
<p>“She’s good. Rose isn’t even here right now, and given her schedule this week you may not see her much.” She raised her hand up to toy with my shirt buttons. I shifted in my seat; the simplest touch stirred me below.</p>
<p>“I’m not going to disrupt your schedule, either. What do you have going on?”</p>
<p>One undone. “I’m cleaning out my cubicle in the G.A.’s office. Later on I’m meeting with Ray to get my diploma and that’s it, aside from a bit of job hunting prep.”</p>
<p>“You’re not walking?” Not everybody got a master’s degree. As passionate as Rey was about her photography, it surprised me she wouldn’t even attend her own graduation.</p>
<p>“There’s a reason for that.” She eased off me, tucking her legs underneath her. “Rose and I have a mutual friend, Kay, who’s getting married in the fall. We and another friend are taking her on a long bachelorette weekend, and the only free time we all had in common coincided with graduation. I figured this was more important.”</p>
<p>“I see. Where are you…”</p>
<p>She canted her head to one side, offering me a look to guess all the details about this upcoming trip. Four women together, itching to burn off excited energy before one of them willingly leaves the single life...where else were they going? <em>Viva.</em></p>
<p>My heart beat faster. “When?” I asked.</p>
<p>“End of the week. We’re staying at Canto Bight.”</p>
<p>“You can stay with me.”</p>
<p>“I won’t bail on my closest friends, Ben, not for this trip.”</p>
<p>I shook my head. “No, I meant all of you. We have an entire floor booked and I know we’re not using all the rooms. We have access to all the VIP areas. I bet you’re all staying in one room, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but it’s not like we plan to sleep much. It’s Vegas,” she said. “Anyway, the room fit our collective budget. The three of us are covering Kay’s expenses except for airfare. It’s our gift to her.”</p>
<p>“Well, if you like, I’ll get you on the list for our floor, have the hotel refund your room and you’ll all have more money to play with in town." I pulled out my phone and made some quick work on it. "Check your email and open the PDF I just sent you."</p>
<p>In seconds the floor plan of our reserved block at Canto Bight filled the screen. "We're staying in the Alpha Tower. Our floor is laid out differently from a typical hotel setup. The key-access elevator opens to a huge open-floor common area with twelve bedrooms." On this particular map, names of everybody attending were scrawled into boxes indicating rooms. "Depending on the final headcount, you all can share one room or split two. Either way, these rooms are more spacious than the standard ones at the resort."</p>
<p>"What are all these names?"</p>
<p>"Some of these are code names used within the campaign. Once my parents come under Secret Service protection they'll be assigned new ones. We use these internally." I pointed out <em>General </em>for my mother and <em>Captain</em> for Dad.</p>
<p>"Where are you?" Rey asked. I pointed out my name and she added, "Kylo Ren. Where did you come up with that?"</p>
<p>"Dungeons and Dragons. Played all through high school."</p>
<p>She nudged me. "Then you discovered girls, right?"</p>
<p>"Hey now. Some of the best Dungeon Masters I knew were girls."</p>
<p>"So, Mistresses then."</p>
<p>I shrugged.</p>
<p>"You'll have to show me how to play one day," she said.</p>
<p>"If you get tired of the blackjack tables, I'll bring my dice. Anyway, I’ll be working during the convention, but you all can have the run of the VIP places other people can’t go. That could be my gift to your friend.”</p>
<p>She looked at me with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “You haven’t met her. Why so generous?”</p>
<p>“Wasn’t Kay the one who suggested you have an affair with me? It’s the least I can do to thank her.”</p>
<p>“Funny. It has to be a group decision, though I imagine I know the answer once I propose it,” she said, nodding. “Let me confirm it first?”</p>
<p>“Sure. Now, tell me about these lethal sex toys.”</p>
<p>She said nothing, but leaned forward to engage me in a long, slow kiss. Every ounce of stress -- the stalking, the comments, the concerned parents -- melted away. Rey in my arms, her lips pliant against mine, was all that existed in this moment.</p>
<p>I moved my hands down from her shoulder blades to her bottom, taking in every smooth line and soft curve. No bra, no panties underneath. That familiar stirring below strengthened, so I wedged my body to lie completely on the sofa without breaking free of our kiss. Rey followed my lead and showed little mercy for my condition, grinding slowly into my crotch.</p>
<p>“I’ve been thinking about you every day since we met,” I told her.</p>
<p>She smiled. “I’m rather memorable.”</p>
<p>“You are. Let’s go to bed.”</p>
<p>“But you just got here.” She pouted. “One must set and observe some ground rules in an affair. It’s time to focus on that.”</p>
<p>“Fine, but I’ll concentrate better without you scraping against my cock. Damn.” Rey straddled my hard-on and showed no sign of letting up. “You have me at an unfair advantage.”</p>
<p>She paused mid-grind. “You’re right. This leads up to rule number one: consent. I realized I jumped you without taking your comfort into consideration. Sorry.”</p>
<p>“Hey,” I protested when she kicked her knee over to perch next to me. “I was thinking maybe hold still for a minute, not leave. You have my permission to sit on any part of my body when the mood strikes.” I tugged at the waistband of her yoga pants, grateful for not getting my hand slapped. “In fact, I’ll make a blanket declaration right now that you have my consent to touch me anywhere, anytime you desire.”</p>
<p>“Serious?” She asked like I wasn’t.</p>
<p>“Dead. Touch me, suck me, fuck me. Just easy with the teeth and nothing...scatalogical.”</p>
<p>“Gross, no worries there. However,” she delved her hand between my thighs and cupped me, “you really insist on giving me that much leeway? Let’s say I’m in the mood to snap on a glove and, ah, give you an exam…”</p>
<p>Interesting to see a rule maker entertain no holes barred. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Go for it.”</p>
<p>“Wow.”</p>
<p>I watched the gears churn while she mulled over my reveal. She looked as if she was dying to ask for details. I guessed a later rule covered disclosure of past hijinks.</p>
<p>“How about waking you up with a blowjob one morning? That cool?”</p>
<p>It was only my dream. “How about tomorrow morning?”</p>
<p>“It <em>is</em> tomorrow morning, but I have time. How about this? I’ll keep going with whatever until you say stop. Good?”</p>
<p>“Good.”</p>
<p>My cock had softened a bit during our discourse and Rey stroked it back into shape before unbuckling my belt. “Anything you want to ask quickly? I won’t be talking for a while.”</p>
<p>“Same applies to you?”</p>
<p>“Anywhere, anytime. Go until I say stop.”</p>
<p>I reached down to slip my hands under her pants, but she was slithering to the carpet, out of reach, for a better position to suck me off. “And if I wanted to fuck your ass?” I asked. “I’d ask first anyway.”</p>
<p>She had the fly undone and pressed a kiss on my boxer briefs, along the outline of my erection. “I’ve not done anal, not in any way. I’d be willing, though.”</p>
<p>“Me, too. How about today morning?”</p>
<p>“Later, okay? I’m busy,” she said, and freed my cock.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>
  <em>Rey</em>
</p>
<p>The one problem with letting a few weeks pass in between hookups is you forget what you’re dealing with. Yes, I’d spent much of that time staring at photos of Ben’s cock, but he wasn’t aroused in the final prints. Kneeling by my sofa, my face up in his business, I took in his impressive length.</p>
<p>Then I gently tucked it back and zipped up his pants.</p>
<p>“Not here,” I said, and stood to pull him off the sofa. “I don’t know when Rose is coming back, and if Finn’s with her we’ll have an audience.”</p>
<p>“They like to watch?” One eyebrow arched.</p>
<p>“It’s not come up before. I haven’t let it.” This wasn’t the night to start, either.</p>
<p>I tugged at his arm, leading him into my room and sealing us off from the rest of the world. I guided him to sit on the edge of my bed and lowered to my knees. He was still hard when I helped relieve him of his pants and briefs. I stroked his length as he removed his shirt; our gazes remained locked the entire time.</p>
<p>I admit, I got a charge from staying dressed while Ben stretched out completely naked in front of me. I found the whole concept of BDSM foreign, and I wasn’t even sure something like this counted as a kink, but it felt exciting to have some kind of control. I got to see every inch of him and he had to use his imagination.</p>
<p>This wasn’t like photography in which I created likenesses of the nude form for public appreciation. Ben was a work of art, yes, but in this moment he was mine.</p>
<p>And I claimed him.</p>
<p>Holding his cock at the base, I licked a wet path up to the tip and closed my lips around him. Ben hissed out my name and reached down to thread his fingers into my hair. I expected him to steer me deeper, but he kept a light grip and allowed me to go my own pace.</p>
<p>Slow at first, then faster. Slicker. Wetter. Holding him at his hips let me go at a nice, smooth rhythm that I refused to stop, even when his hands tightened and failed to still me. Every sound he made spurred me forward; his taste changed and I sensed he was close.</p>
<p>I leaned back to look up at him. The neck of my t-shirt had become damp. He looked ready to beg -- for more, for relief, maybe. I know I looked like a dripping mess but I didn’t care. “Finish in my mouth, please.”</p>
<p>“Hurry,” he whispered hoarsely.</p>
<p>He was close, I was right. Three more hard strokes down, nearly gagging, and Ben let go with a deep cry. I swallowed every drop he gave and kissed a trail up his slowly heaving body, falling back onto the bed where I rested my head against his collarbone. Despite his perceived exhaustion he felt strong and energetic as he moved his hands over me.</p>
<p>“Take. These. Off.” Quiet and commanding. A woman could come just hearing his voice, I bet.</p>
<p>He helped me undress and we slipped into bed, kissing and touching and taking advantage of our first rule. Ben disappeared from view when he slid down to eat my pussy, forcing me to throw aside the top sheet to watch.</p>
<p>“You seemed to like this last time,” he said before sucking in the two fingers he eased into my cunt. Whatever he did lifted me slightly off the bed.</p>
<p>I clamped down on him. “What are you doing?”</p>
<p>“I’m trying to hit your spot again.” Twist, pump, slide.</p>
<p>“Are you sure I really have --” And Ben moved again and I forgot how to talk coherently. <em>Sweet mother of glob!</em></p>
<p>He smiled and buried his face between my thighs, and kept it there until I came hard. We paused the action briefly after my recovery for him to retrieve his bag from the living room. This time we fucked missionary style, our bodies pressed together and my hands tight on his back. Only it didn’t feel like the hardcore fucking in which we’d abandoned ourselves the first time.</p>
<p>Oh, this was hot and amazing, but it was different. This was deliberate, at times rough and careful. This was minutes feeling like hours counting the changes on his shadowed countenance as he moved inside me. This was...lovemaking. The opposite of a good-time affair; more like a forever.</p>
<p>“You alright, boss?” Ben whispered in my ear, and startled me out of my trance.</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“You are so beautiful like this. I could go on for days.”</p>
<p>I dug in my nails. “Good. Don’t stop.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Ever.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Ben - Burn, Phasma, Burn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Ben and Rose have a moment, and Ben and Phasma don't</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I forgot to turn off my alarm. The creepy, gentle wake-up music set in my clock app chimed in at exactly five, leaving me slapping every hard surface within reach until I remembered where I was. Rey, pressed to my side, groaned her semi-conscious disapproval. “Hang on,” I whispered to her, and scuttled out of bed to grab my pants.</p><p>I found the phone in my pocket and switched it off. Rey had drifted away, but my internal clock kept me awake. New alarm, new day. Back home, Armie and I would be suiting up for our morning run, then coffee before beginning our respective jobs for Mother’s campaign. A quick check of the Slack app on my phone revealed Jacen had things under control; he’d practically started the minute I left D.C.</p><p>If he wanted my job, he could have it.</p><p>My task for the moment was choosing between the nearby bay shore or the path running behind Rey’s complex that led to the state park. The latter seemed more secluded.</p><p>I texted Rey to let her know, kissed her, and dressed in a singlet and shorts. I’d left my running shoes in the car, so I walked out in my socks. A young woman in dark blue scrubs, sitting with a forlorn expression at Rey’s kitchen table, looked up from her mug of coffee.</p><p>Rose.</p><p>“Did I wake you?” she asked. “I’m sorry. I’m not even supposed to be at work for two hours. I just couldn’t get back to sleep.”</p><p>“No, you’re good. I was about to go run.” I held out a hand and we introduced ourselves.</p><p>“You may want to wait that out, unless you don’t mind getting wet.” She nodded toward the great window and we watched the rain thicken.</p><p>“When did that happen? It was fine a few minutes ago.”</p><p>“Wait a few more. It’ll go away. Welcome to summer,” she said. “You need a water bottle for your run? We have a ton.”</p><p>“I’ll be fine, thanks. I’m not going far.” I took the chair opposite hers since it made no sense to go back to bed, or to wake Rey. “While I’m thinking of it, I’d like to buy dinner for you and Rey tonight. Whatever you like to take out.”</p><p>“That’s sweet of you, thanks. I have no plans, so that’s perfect.” She sipped her coffee and added, on a sigh, “No plans. At all.”</p><p>My antennae shot up at that. Rey had volunteered little information about Rose, nothing beyond her being a nurse, somebody who loved her job and boyfriend to pieces. Obviously, she was unhappy with something, and my ego took over before my brain registered other options.</p><p>“Also, I won’t be here but a few days so if I’m in the way just tell me to step off --”</p><p>She waved me off. “Oh, gosh, no. You’re fine. Hell, when Finn’s here he sprawls everywhere like it’s his place. Ticks Rey off to no end.” She laughed a bit, but the sound turned sour. “He did, anyway.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, are you okay?”</p><p>She brooded for a moment and opened her mouth as if to speak, but brought the mug to her lips again. Without drinking she set it back down and looked at me, anguished. “Not really, no. I received some rather surprising news of a personal matter last night and I’m still processing it.”</p><p>“I see.” <em>None of your business, Ben.</em> The rain appeared to let up, and I moved my chair back. “It’s clearing up, so I think --”</p><p>“Have you ever been in a long-distance relationship?”</p><p>“Excuse me?” I remained seated. “Oh, yeah. More than one, actually. I guess it’s been the nature of my life.”</p><p>“I’m not really counting what’s going on here. D.C. isn’t that far...I’m thinking farther apart.”</p><p>“I see. Well, the answer is still yes. Maybe you’ve heard about me and Phasma.” She nodded. “She was living in New York when I met her, but bought a second house in California. She was bi-coastal for a while, so it wasn’t bad. Once she made the move permanent is when we drifted apart.” More like the lines cut to set me adrift, but Rose hadn’t asked for details.</p><p>“I’m sorry to hear it.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, and added, “You know what, I’m not. I don’t know how it ended, but Rey’s awesome, and you wouldn’t be here if a long distance romance worked out.”</p><p>“Thanks. Things happen for a reason, and I’m good about my direction so far,” I said.</p><p>“Thank you for answering me, too,” she said. “Personally, it makes no difference to me how far apart or close you live as long as you love each other. Rey might say the same thing. It’s just… well, my boyfriend dropped some abrupt news on me last night.”</p><p>“Oh.” She needed to have this conversation with Rey, who was closer to this situation, yet when I opened my mouth to suggest it she continued.</p><p>“I met Finn when he was running an outfitters store in town. They were bought out by a larger chain a few years ago. They cleaned house in upper management but kept him on because his was the highest performing location on this coast,” she said. “Last year they made him regional manager for the Mid-Atlantic region, which meant a lot of travel, but at least he’d come home.”</p><p>I gestured to the coffee maker, asking in silence, and Rose directed me to the pods. “He and the CEO are pretty tight,” she continued. “So close, Poe -- that’s the guy’s name -- offered him another promotion to COO.”</p><p>“That’s good, though, right?”</p><p>“Of course. I’m happy for him in that respect.” She shrugged. “It means a huge raise, company car and expense account...and relocation to Charleston.”</p><p>“West Virginia or South Carolina?” Neither one was too far away -- about six to seven hours.</p><p>“Oregon. I didn’t know Oregon <em>had</em> a Charleston, but Finn says it’s where Poe is from originally, near Coos Bay.” Rose smiled wanly. “He said he loves me, but an opportunity like this is too big to pass up. Yet, for as long as he talked, he never once intimated that my moving with him was an option.”</p><p>“Is it, though?” As Rose spoke, memories sparked of similar conversations shared with Phas. Offers in Europe, house-shopping in the Hollywood Hills. It was all about her, no words to assure me I might be welcome in her world in the long term. The longer I sat here, I realized maybe it was okay for me to be here instead of Rey. I related.</p><p>She shook her head. “I have a life here. Friends, my sister. So I suggested we take a break and he agreed. A few weeks, forever, who knows? I’d rather be with somebody there for me all the time and not asking himself ‘what if?’ This way we’ll get an answer.” Her face then fell slack, mortified. “Wow. We just met and I really laid this on you, didn’t I?”</p><p>“It’s fine.”</p><p>“I’m sorry. I suppose I wanted to hear another perspective.”</p><p>“It’s okay, seriously,” I said. “My mother used to tell me how people unburdened themselves to her all the time. She has one of those faces that people trust, and lots of patience. I guess it’s genetic.”</p><p>“I left him last night on good terms. I didn’t want him to think I assumed he was hot to dump me. If he wants that, he doesn’t have to move all the way across the country.”</p><p><em>Preaching to the choir there.</em> Phas bloomed in my memory again and I shook her away.</p><p>“I love Finn; I want him to be happy.”</p><p>“You deserve to be happy, too.”</p><p>“Thanks.” Her face pinked a bit. “The timing seems weird, since we’re going to Vegas at the end of the week. I’ll be a free woman in Sin City.”</p><p>“Well, If you’re concerned about going overboard,” I looked back at Rey’s door for a second, “I told Rey you ladies are welcome to stay in the Organa suites. We have added security and a few perks.”</p><p>“Yeah? You mean like the Secret Service?”</p><p>I held up my hands. “Not just yet. Closer to the election, Mother, Dad and her Veep candidate will receive Secret Service protection. We’re still a ways out.”</p><p>“What about you?”</p><p>“Not until she’s inaugurated, and only through her administration.” Knock wood. I assumed until then I’d inherit Chewie. The Captain had made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere.</p><p>Rose tapped her nails against her mug. “Okay, if a good-looking man in black isn’t a perk, what is?”</p><p>“Use of the penthouse pool, VIP lounge access… I think all the tubs are jetted.” What else? “And people are always sending Mother free stuff, but she gives it all away. Just be in her line of sight when it happens.”</p><p>“Nice. And Rey’s still ‘thinking’ about this?” She jumped up and bolted into Rey’s room, yelling, “Swear to glob, if you turn down a penthouse suite and free shit for us you are definitely not the smart one!”</p><p>She dashed back out and grabbed the keys on the kitchen counter. “I’m going to head in early. It was nice talking to you,” she told me, and left.</p><p>Rey padded out in a long t-shirt that barely covered her thighs, her face still clouded with sleep. “What the hell was that all about?”</p><p>I sipped my coffee. “I’ll let her tell it later.”</p><p>***</p><p>Before Rey left for school she lent me a beach chair and pointed out the best spots for private meditation on the shore. I didn’t get in a run, but hiked along the back path and crossed to the beach well before reaching the state park. A few dogs leading their owners on morning walks sniffed around my shoes and I couldn’t resist stopping to pet each one, as permitted.</p><p>Even with a fitted Nats cap and sunglasses on, I was recognized. “I hope your mother wins,” said one older woman in a flowing beach wrap.</p><p>“Me too.” I scratched her yellow Lab behind the ears.</p><p>“And Phasma is completely wrong, if you ask me. I went to Hoth, and it’s nothing like she says.”</p><p>“Huh?” But the dog had spotted a squirrel and yanked her in the opposite direction. So, instead of enjoying my time off lying in the sun without a care in the world, I slouched in the borrowed beach chair and scrolled through the endless comments tacked onto Phas’s latest Instagram post.</p><p>The photo depicted her sitting on the sill of a tall window, face turned away and staring down at the illuminated Vegas strip. She wore a flowing pink robe, slit open in a long, narrow vee revealing the bare curve of one breast. One exposed leg, bent at the knee, showed an even tan. I supposed we were led to believe she was contemplating life in general before her next show.</p><p><em>Shit.</em> I’d forgotten about her residency. At Canto Bight, of all places. Hopefully her time was consumed with rehearsals and PR that we’d avoid each other altogether.</p><p>The rambling monologue attached to her photo mentioned no names, but it alluded to my posing for Rey. Something something, bare too much of yourself and you open the floodgates, something something more. I honestly couldn’t read the whole thing, but apparently her beloved Phasmatics had managed to decipher it.</p><p>It confused me, too, that the woman in the park had read something derogatory about Hoth in there. Scrolling deeper, I discovered why. One comment remarked: <em>I don’t see the big deal in Ben posing for a grad student’s project. I have an art degree and I’ve completed many life drawings. Kudos to him for helping a starving artist.</em></p><p>Phasma doesn’t respond to everyone, but here she said: <em>It’s one thing to create art, entirely another to create an opportunity. Methinks this young woman is using her subject for personal gain, leveraging a noted person’s generosity to further her career. I feel confident that I can speak to this topic, given my history with one of the parties involved. Makes you wonder what sort of ethics are being taught at Hoth.</em></p><p>Methinks? Parties involved? She made me look like an English report she was forced to write. Who talks like that? And how soon did this woman drop me when my mother and I refused to help her career? “Phas, what are you saying?” I muttered.</p><p>I was logged into the app via the Organa 2020 account, so no engagement allowed. Yet, I couldn’t leave this alone. Let Phas drag me to her heart’s content, but come after Rey… gloves were off now.</p><p>I expanded the chain of sub-comments underneath Phas’s reply. One IG handle caught my eye, <em>iamladyholdo</em>.</p><p>The comment read: <em>Hey, Phasma, go fuck yourself. Rey Walker is my friend and a professional behind the camera, one of the most ethical, kind-hearted people on this hot mess of a planet. She could make even you look good.</em></p><p>“Burn.”</p><p>I shut off my phone and lay back in the chair. I was probably due to apply another layer of sunscreen but the heat sapped my strength. I closed my eyes and considered my options. Do I create social accounts to respond publicly to misinformation, do I write a statement for the press, do I leave it alone? I had the LinkedIn, but it basically served as an online <em>vitae</em>. I’d long ago forgotten my password to it.</p><p>Before we’d fallen asleep last night, Rey and I agreed to hash out a plan, and I wanted to come out with some ideas.</p><p>As for Phas… I swiped my phone awake again and pulled up my contacts. I’d meant to delete her some time ago. My last text to her, sent so long ago, stuck out to me as lame and lonely. I had the last words in this conversation since she ghosted me; I wished now they’d been stronger.</p><p>My thumb hovered, awaiting instruction. <em>Fuck</em>. What would I say to her? I entertained the notion that if I ignored her, she’d turn her attention elsewhere and her minions would follow. Of course, if people like Rey’s friend Holdo continued to needle her, she may keep dragging Rey out of spite. Which was ridiculous. Phasma had no claim on me. I failed to see how her behavior won her points in the court of public opinion.</p><p>I typed: <em>Lay off Rey Walker, okay? This isn’t any of your business</em>. I waited to send, however, and pondered my options.</p><p>I send Phas a text, she writes back, and perhaps she refuses to leave me alone.</p><p>I ignore Phas, she keeps throwing shade, and Rey is potentially hurt personally and professionally by it.</p><p>I ignore Phas, she finds another shiny distraction, and we all live happily ever after.</p><p>Or...I send Phas a text, she takes a screenshot, and that’s her next Instagram post. <em>I tried to warn him, and this is the thanks I get...</em></p><p>I hit delete and started back to Rey’s apartment, stopping when my phone rang.</p><p>“You were supposed to let this go to voicemail,” my mother scolded. “You’re on vacation.”</p><p>“If I had, would you have sent Chewie here to search for my body?” I wrestled with the beach chair. The joints were rusted and reluctant to give. “I can’t win with you.”</p><p>“Let’s change the subject. How is that delightful young woman of yours?”</p><p>“It may be a bit premature to call her mine,” I said, “but she’s not pregnant. Aren’t you supposed to be giving a speech right now? Am I on speaker?”</p><p>“It’s not for another hour. I’m calling as an excuse to tie up my phone for a bit. Your father is forwarding me Palpatine’s tweets. Every twenty seconds this damn thing goes off and pollutes my eyes.”</p><p>I plowed across the hot sand toward the wooden walkway, feeling the granules in my shoes scraping my feet as I walked. “Tell him he can bug me instead.”</p><p>“He ought to. They’re all about you.”</p><p>“I’m afraid to ask.” It was bound to happen. The President had yet to refer to me directly in any media -- not much to say, really -- but his opinion on my modeling career was inevitable and no doubt critical. “I haven’t looked, but he hasn’t said anything about Rey, has he?”</p><p>“I’m talking to you. I’m not reading them, either.”</p><p>“I’ll tell Dad to knock it off. Armie wrote you a good speech, you’ll be fine. Also,” I checked for traffic before crossing the main road, “it turns out Rey and some friends planned a Vegas trip that coincides with our stay. I asked them to share the suites.”</p><p>“Without consulting me or the committee first.” She sighed.</p><p>“You said she was going to be famous, and that it was my fault. You want the media to discover her there and she has no protection?” I asked.</p><p>“Yes, you’re right. I’m not being charitable, and I like her. Maybe we’ll set aside some time and all get together for dinner one night,” she said. “I’ll make sure there’s room. It’ll be tight.”</p><p>“Tight?” The top floor of the tower at Canto Bight, so the layout revealed, accommodated a fair number of people. “It’s not like everybody’s coming.”</p><p>“No, not everybody.” Mother sounded farther away now. In my mind she was looking in all directions, as though trying to avoid getting into details. “A few more people than originally anticipated, though.”</p><p>“Such as?” Aside from me, Dad, Armie, Chewie, Mother’s running mate and two key staff, nobody else who should be there came to mind.</p><p>“Lando, for one.”</p><p>My “uncle” Lando Calrissian had raced with my father’s team back in the day. Hell would freeze over before he turned down a free room in Vegas.</p><p>“And Ben.”</p><p>She meant our friend, the former president. Rose would get to meet a Secret Service man after all.</p><p>“Also, my brother.”</p><p>“Why?” My biological uncle, Luke, taught fencing to rich kids in the Pacific Northwest. He lived the minimalist life on a boat he usually parked in a slip on Bainbridge Island. On particularly stressful work days, I envied him.</p><p>“We added him to the speaker’s list. Consensus is, having more family on stage highlights the humanity of our campaign. It doesn’t hurt that Luke is an Olympic medalist, either.”</p><p>“I guess not.” In my head, the crowd cheered, <em>U.S.A!</em></p><p>“You’re not disappointed, are you, Ben?”</p><p>Rey’s complex came into view. I cut through a back exit by the pool, as she’d suggested. “What for?”</p><p>“That we don’t have you on the list. It’s not because of those pictures --”</p><p>I cut her off. “Mother, leaving me off is a huge relief. You put me on that stage and I’ll choke. I’ll be much more valuable to you behind the scenes.”</p><p>“Of course you will, and your team will be right there every step of the way.”</p><p><em>What?</em> I stopped short of the stairway leading to Rey’s apartment. “Uh, no. They’re staying in D.C. It’s just Armie and me flying up, remember? We were going to handle all the video and livestreams and, Mother, what have you done?”</p><p>“Ben, don’t be upset.”</p><p>Our stay in Vegas was slowly turning into a bad sitcom. Twice as many people as beds. I foresaw people tiptoeing in and out of different doors at all hours. “What have you done?” I repeated, calmer.</p><p>“Well, until you mentioned inviting Rey’s group to stay with us, I figured we had enough room to accommodate your full team. They ought to be where the action is, and take some of the pressure off of you,” she said. “Given this new information, I’d think this would make you happy. You may have more time with Rey.”</p><p>“She won’t necessarily have more time for me, Mother. Her friends have plans, and until now I thought I had some say in the management of my team.”</p><p>“Ben.”</p><p>I cringed on hearing my name. This particular tone of voice signaled her attempt to placate me. She’d call my name and offer some kind of compromise to win my acquiescence. Thing was, she had nothing to offer me this time. I held no desire to join her White House staff; I pledged to see her through the election, and yet here she was performing my own damn job.</p><p>“Stop, Mother. You know what, it’s fine. Let Jacen and Jaina and whoever tag along, but please leave their supervision to me?” I lingered in the stairwell, waiting out my frustration in the event Rey had returned. I refused to bring this to her.</p><p>“Yes, Ben. I keep doing this, and I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, but I have to get ready. I’ll see you in a few days.” Love love, kiss kiss, and Mother was off to win the hearts of North Carolina.</p><p>After she rang off I went to call up my LinkedIn profile to see what needed updating, and that’s when I saw the missed call from Phasma’s number.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Rey - No Comment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Rey gets a taste of fame, and spits it out.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For the kudos and kind words, thank you.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I managed to whittle my entire graduate school career down to one cardboard file box. Ray One gave me a hug and said don’t be a stranger, and we arranged a time to meet upon my return from Vegas to retrieve my diploma. I bade goodbye to the department secretaries and other acquaintances in different offices as well, and wondered how soon I’d be back to either socialize or see about enrolling in another program.</p>
<p>Eventually, I had to distance myself. Ray and I got on like a fire, but it was time for him to move onto the next wide-eyed G.A. I’d put off adulting long enough myself.</p>
<p>I hated my indecision, though I was fortunate enough to afford it. I knew several classmates had secured jobs and grants and doctoral work. The monetary cushion I’d prepared would last me about a month before I needed to take action -- two if I lived frugally. Best case scenario: things with Ben go so well I find a position closer to D.C., or he moves closer and I find work here.</p>
<p>Worst case: I stay in Vegas, set up on a corner, and sell framed photos of the Strip to tourists. But, to paraphrase a favorite saying from a long ago book heroine, I’d think about that tomorrow. Maybe in a week or two.</p>
<p>Rose kept me company via phone on the drive home, during which she relayed possible dinner orders and advised she’d be home on time for once. I felt bad hearing about her breakup with Finn this way -- news like this required closeness and sympathetic drinking, followed by a good cry and the requisite “men don’t deserve us” rant. Challenging in this case, though, given Rose seemed okay with the split, and I’d likely roll back into bed with Ben once the tears dried. We agreed instead to work Rose’s regained freedom into our trip. </p>
<p>She suggested we all get waxed beforehand. Holdo and Kay both voted yes on the new resort digs, and if Ben came through on helping us with a room refund we’d have a way to pay for it. Brazilians for all!</p>
<p>I arrived home to find Ben sitting out on the balcony, shirtless and in shorts, his long legs propped on the opposite chair and a glass bottle of Mexican Coke just within his reach. He cut a relaxed profile with his head tilted back, eyes closed and buds in his ears. I hated to disturb him, and actually left him to his contemplation while I dumped my belongings in my closet. Right as I tossed my sweat-stained t-shirt in the hamper he appeared in the doorway with the bottle and an appreciative grin.</p>
<p>“Starting without me, boss?”</p>
<p>“Just changing into something fresher,” I said, and took my time searching for a shirt to wear. I waited for his reaction, which basically amounted to the smoldering glare and his tongue lingering around the lip of the Coke after taking a sip.</p>
<p>“There any more of those?”</p>
<p>He nodded. “You want it spiked? I bought some Jack, too.”</p>
<p>“Maybe later.” I slipped on a shirt and met him at the door for a kiss. The intended peck turned deeper and searching and I thought for a moment I’d have to change shirts again after a few minutes of our tight embrace.</p>
<p>“You ought to put something on, too, or else we’ll miss dinner,” I told him. He complied without protest. Damn it.</p>
<p>After recapping our activities for the day, he handed me a cold bottle and we settled opposite each other on the couch. When Ben asked if anybody had given me grief about the photos and subsequent media attention, I took a deep pull from the bottle to steady my nerves.</p>
<p>“I was waiting for a better time, but I really don’t know when that is.” I called up my dial pad. “Nobody at the school said anything, but then they were all at the exhibit. They’re changing the access code to my voicemail at the end of the week, so I can still get messages until I officially graduate. Listen to this.”</p>
<p>I’d left all the messages from various news outlets on the voicemail. Chirpy voices representing local stations, entertainment websites, and talk show casting agents inquired for time to talk about my photography and any connections with the Organa 2020 campaign and their favorite son. After the fifth one Ben said he’d heard enough.</p>
<p>“I get calls from news outlets, too. Sometimes my team crosses streams with Mother’s publicist, so I pass them along to her when there’s a statement to send out.” He looked at me. “You plan to answer them?”</p>
<p>“No. I’m proud of those portraits, and people will remember them for a long time, but they shouldn’t define me as a photographer. I worry if I give an interview that’s all people will want to talk about.” I mentioned talking with Ray about it. He’d taken some iconic shots in his career, but possessed a varied enough portfolio that nobody could accuse him of being a one-hit wonder.</p>
<p>Ben set down his Coke. “Let’s say a reporter keeps asking you about <em>me</em>, though.”</p>
<p>I smiled. “That’s none of their business. Are you going to talk about me to reporters?”</p>
<p>“I’d rather talk about us to you. However, since we’re all open and transparent…” He showed me the call log on his phone, with Phasma’s name in red at the top. “I was on the line with my mother when she called.”</p>
<p>The arrow next to her name indicated the incoming call, but nothing outgoing, so he hadn’t returned it. “She leave a voicemail?”</p>
<p>He shook his head. “She’s too smart for that. No text, no voice messages, nothing tangible for me to exploit. Not that I’d bother,” he said. “I can’t tell you why she called, though if you’re curious you can ask your friend Holdo about her Instagram activities.”</p>
<p>“What? Why’s that?” I called up my friend’s profile and saw nothing beyond her usual assortment of selfies. </p>
<p>“Try Phasma’s profile,” he said, and guided me to the post in question.</p>
<p>Nice to know Holdo had my back. “Oh, that’s too funny. Never let it be said that Holdo uses a filter.” I noticed the worry shading Ben’s face and scooted over to snuggle into him. “If you’re that concerned I’ll tell her to back off. Does Phasma even read the comments?”</p>
<p>“No clue. I got the impression yes, back when we dated. But I’ve been fine the last few months without her, so I really don’t care.”</p>
<p>I tilted my face back to look him in the eye. “I thought you two broke up several months ago. This sentiment sounds recent.”</p>
<p>“Yes. It took a long time to recover.” His expression sold that line.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“It’s okay.” He pressed his face into my hair for a moment. “The hurt’s gone. Just memories that seemed nice once, but now they’re distorted.”</p>
<p>“Is it far enough removed that we can talk about it? About her?”</p>
<p>“You really want to hear about it?”</p>
<p>I stroked his face. “You said let’s talk about us. This is a part of you.” Understanding this past relationship, which seemed significant compared to minor dalliances he’d referenced, added to our story. If anything, learning about Phasma might help us avoid mistakes down the road.</p>
<p>He brushed his lips against my palm before speaking. “Would you believe she and I met because I was pimped out to her?”</p>
<p>“What?” I figured celebrities had odd proclivities, but somebody like Phasma needn’t pay for it.</p>
<p>“Mother’s campaign manager wanted to land a name artist to sing at a fundraiser, and a friend of a friend had a connection to Phasma. She hadn’t reached supernova status then, but she was hot enough to command an appearance fee Mother wasn’t prepared to pay. But Phasma supported her politically, and Mother negotiated a significant discount for the event.” He cleared his throat. “It wasn’t until that night when I learned I was part of the deal.”</p>
<p>A smirk played on his lips, leading me to think this part of the story ended not so badly.</p>
<p>“My parents were invited to the Met Gala that year. The Captain had absolutely zero desire to go, so Mother had roped me into being her date. I didn’t want to go, either, but her advisors convinced me the face time would help Mother come election time... because farmers in Indiana really relate to rich celebrities wearing silly clothes at an elitist function.” Ben rolled his eyes. “Plus, Palpatine wasn’t invited, so nyah.”</p>
<p>“Did you dress up as an X-rated nun like everybody else?”</p>
<p>“I wore a suit, off the rack. The day before, Mother lets me know part of the deal in getting Phasma to sing on the cheap involved transferring her invite,” he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Google the images for that year. I’m the jerk dressed for a funeral escorting Phasma, who’s wearing this glitter-beaded showgirl bikini with a long marabou train attached at her waist.”</p>
<p>Way ahead of him, I pulled images up on my phone. “How many ostriches died for that headdress?” I asked, pointing to one Getty image. Poor Ben looked embarrassed to be there, searching for an escape hatch.</p>
<p>“Despite that, we got along. Once she shed everything that made her Phasma, she came off as an interesting woman. After the gala I figured the obligation had ended and we’d never speak again, but a week later she asked me out to a movie premiere,” he said. “It surprised my parents at first, but at the time everything about her seemed genuine.”</p>
<p>I shut off my phone and listened. Ben held me tighter. The shadows returned.</p>
<p>“We enjoyed each other’s company when schedules permitted. Then she dropped that album and it took off. People were mailing her movie scripts, her label wanted her to headline a tour, but she was more interested in people coming to her, not the other way around. She negotiated that Vegas residency herself, and now she’s able to write her own ticket.</p>
<p>“She suggested I leave Organa 2020 and help market her brand. Now she was a ‘brand,’ not a person. That was a sign I missed. I made it clear I intended to change careers after the election, and…”</p>
<p>“Things cooled,” I finished.</p>
<p>“More like she dropped me in liquid nitrogen. Me apart from my mother diminished my value.” He looked away for a moment. “She believed, if I declined to work for her and had no White House connections, I brought nothing to the relationship.”</p>
<p>What a shitty thing to think.</p>
<p>“She didn’t even dump me in person. I learned with the rest of the world when my replacement escorted her to some awards show.” He sighed. “I loved Phasma the person, but I suppose the person and the celebrity were a package deal, and she took my desire to be my own person as a rejection.”</p>
<p>“You were asked to surrender your own individuality to build her up. You made the right decision, Ben.”</p>
<p>He seemed to consider that, and agreed. “She could be full of herself at times. There’s an old joke...I forget who said it, but it goes ‘during sex she used to call out her own name.’”</p>
<p>“I’ve heard that before. Respect the classics.” I laughed.</p>
<p>“She never did that, but her apartment in L.A. had a mirrored wall by her bed. Those nights, she’d stare at herself. I may as well have been…”</p>
<p>He stopped; we’d clearly reached a breaking point, so I brought him back to the present with a long kiss. The heat of his hand on my breast spread quickly and pooled low; it amazed me how our kisses affected me in that way. He hadn’t touched me there and I was getting wet.</p>
<p>“Whatever happens, however long this goes on,” he said pointing between us, “no mirrors, please. Look at me.”</p>
<p>“Of course. Same with me.”</p>
<p>We lapsed into quiet, me still slouched against him on the sofa. It had become so comfortable I nearly fell asleep, but the text alert on my phone jarred me to a sitting position. “Rose is leaving work in twenty. It’s a twenty-minute drive from the hospital. Better order dinner now to get it in time.”</p>
<p>Ben asked for my Venmo ID and transferred money into my account, enough to feed the three of us plus leftovers. “That empanada truck deliver?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think so.” Like I’d check. Let Miss Camille work in ignorant bliss, never knowing where I live or discovering my guest. “There is a Puerto Rican place Rose and I like, though.” I left the sofa to retrieve the to-go menu for him.</p>
<p>“No arepas,” he tsked, and settled for the mofongo and a few appetizers to split. The search for South American cuisine in Vegas kept us occupied until the food arrived. Close to go time, a thought occurred to me.</p>
<p>“If we stay with you and your parents next week...do we have to have background checks?” I had nothing to hide, but my friends should receive fair warning if necessary.</p>
<p>“No. It’s not like a sitting president will be with us.” Ben followed me into my galley kitchen. “So you know, Mother set aside a room for my godfather.”</p>
<p>“Your godfather…?”</p>
<p>“Ben Kenobi.”</p>
<p><em>Shut up!</em> I quickly closed my jaw. “Is that safe?”</p>
<p>He raised an eyebrow. “For you? I’d say yes. Ben’s pretty harmless.”</p>
<p>Ben’s flippant remark threw me for a moment. I remembered all those years ago, watching news clips of a failed attempt on President Kenobi’s life. It was early in his first term; he hadn’t had time to settle in and people wanted him dead. It made little sense to high school me… surely Ben being closer to the man was affected by it.</p>
<p>He seemed to sense my thoughts. He added, “He’s also a tough old man with Secret Service detail. Far as I know, he’ll hang in the suite until it’s time for his speech, then he’ll go home early. Vegas isn’t his scene.”</p>
<p>“Once Holdo gets her claws in, he may change his mind.”</p>
<p>Ben smirked. “She likes older men?”</p>
<p>“She likes all men.”</p>
<p>Three sharp raps at the door drew my attention. I pointed Ben to the plates and silverware and went to confirm our delivery. The peephole showed a young woman in sunglasses. “Who’s there?” </p>
<p>“Delivery for Rey Walker from El Tropical.”</p>
<p>I’d added the tip to the charge, but took a few ones out of my shorts pocket. I’d gigged food delivery in the past, and knew the drivers only received so much of the till. Before I was able to hand it over, though, the woman held up her phone to my face. The tiny green light by the camera was like a laser seeking out a target.</p>
<p>“Ms. Walker, are you romantically involved with Ben Solo?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Shit!</em>
</p>
<p>I kept my gaze down. If I looked back into the apartment, it might alert this person to Ben’s presence. Was she our delivery person looking for a break into journalism, or had she been staking us out, and bribed the actual driver for this chance?</p>
<p>“How long had you known Mr. Solo before he posed for you? Where did you meet?”</p>
<p>She held a white plastic bag, the ends tied in a knot. I grabbed our dinner. She could forget about the tip.</p>
<p>“Are you aware of Phasma’s claims that you are using Mr. Solo to advance your own career?” she persisted. “Do you have anything to say in your defense?”</p>
<p>“No comment.” I slammed the door in her face and engaged the deadbolt.</p>
<p>Ben sat at the table, plates and forks neatly stacked in the center. One hand cradled his head on a propped-up elbow, the other twitched around his phone as though deciding on a number to call.</p>
<p>“I am so sorry, Rey,” he said. “I should have just let you photograph that first model you hired. You’d have your degree and your life, and nobody harassing you.”</p>
<p>I set down the food and stood behind his chair, rubbing his shoulders. “Ben, it was one reporter. I’m not even sure if it was a reporter. Probably somebody with a TikTok account trying to become famous herself.”</p>
<p>“It was the first reporter. There will be more.” He brought up the dialpad. “I’m at a loss at what to do here. Every criticism about my mother’s campaign involved policies, nothing personal.”</p>
<p>“So, the press didn’t hound you when you and Phasma were going out?” I found that difficult to believe.</p>
<p>“They did, but we were public almost from the start. If it brings her publicity and sales, Phasma puts it out there.” He turned back to smile at me. “You can search clips online if you want, see how often I got a word in around her. Her people handled all the press.”</p>
<p>The door opened, catching my heart. Outside, Rose yelled at our unwelcome visitor to get lost. Slam, lock, security chain. Rose came into view, pink with frustration and shaking her head. “Oh, good, the food’s here. How about some wine?”</p>
<p>“I vote yes,” I said. Ben passed, content with his spiked Cokes.</p>
<p>Rose tossed her purse on the sofa. “I want to change out of my scrubs first. Any paparazzi hiding in my room?”</p>
<p>“If you ladies like, I’ll arrange for security,” Ben offered.</p>
<p>“Eh.” Rose waved him off. “That chick was a nuisance but not dangerous. Plus, a guard at the door makes it look like we’re guilty of something.” With that she disappeared into her room.</p>
<p>He turned to me, looking helpless. “You’re taking this well. You seemed worried about stalkers in the bushes last night.”</p>
<p>“I was, but seeing that woman trying to conduct an interview while delivering food.” I huffed out a laugh. “She looked silly. Nothing I can’t handle.”</p>
<p>“I can’t just sit here and let people bother you and your friends, Rey.”</p>
<p>I took the chair next to his. “It’s time to eat. We’ll come up with a solution afterward.”</p>
<p>He nodded toward the front door, indicating our stalker. “What about her?” </p>
<p>“She’s not invited to dinner.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Ben - Pants!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which a statement is made and shared around the world.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Vegas is coming in the next chapter. If you are interested to know what happens there...so am I. :-D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rose retired to the privacy of her room after we cleared the dishes and boxed the leftover food. I settled into Rey’s bed with all my gadgetry. Mother sent a revised sleeping plan at my request, and seeing multiple names squeezed into the room boxes solidified the reality of our situation: Organa 2020 Vegas was a full house.</p>
<p>Rey put on a long nightshirt and snuggled next to me. “Oh, look at that. Kylo Ren has a roommate now.” She tapped at Armie’s name next to mine in the corner box. “Gonna make sneaking around difficult.”</p>
<p>Just as well, I was thinking. With my godfather as part of this jamboree, Armie wouldn’t be able to bring women up to “see the view.” If he tried, good luck to him getting them past Lando.</p>
<p>“I think you four will be comfortable, anyway. Like I said, the rooms are huge.” Rey’s party had the room next to mine; I had a few days to work out a nice bribe to get Armie out of the way for a few hours at least.</p>
<p>“Chewie...he’s the biker dude I saw at the gallery, right?” Her finger skidded over to his name in the middle of the PDF. “Why is he here and not assigned a room?” </p>
<p>“I’m not sure how to explain Chewie.” As long as I had a memory, Chewie had been a presence in my life. He hadn’t lived with us full-time, but he loomed like a guardian angel through various milestones. He wasn’t a blood relative, and if he had family he refrained from talking about them. “He doesn’t talk much at all, actually,” I added after giving our history. “He’s very meditative, spiritual in the sense that he believes silence is golden.”</p>
<p>“And because of that he doesn’t get his own room?” </p>
<p>I got Rey’s confusion, and I held her tighter. “I’m not certain Chewie sleeps, either. He just <em>is</em>. Odds say he drew up this arrangement. Putting himself at the focal point makes it easier for him to keep an eye on all of us.”</p>
<p>“You make him sound like a being from another world, studying humans for his own gain.”</p>
<p>Wouldn’t surprise me if a saucer entered our airspace one day to give him a lift home. I closed that window and brought up a website I owned with my name as the domain. It served primarily as an online <em>vitae</em>; my professional headshot was several years old. “On to new business,” I said, and logged into the backend. “You sure you want to go forward with this?”</p>
<p>Rey nodded and pressed her cheek into my shoulder. “I was thinking over dinner, the longer we’re quiet the greater the curiosity. I say we put out a few paragraphs, everybody who cares will read it, and they’ll leave us alone.”</p>
<p>Worth a shot, though a hint of skepticism nagged at me. I agreed to this on the hope the press would move away from Rey. I expected attention through the election, but Rey was entitled to her space.</p>
<p>In the backend of my site, I created a second page linking from the first, called <em>A Statement About Ben Solo and Rey Walker</em>. “Not the sexiest title, but it’ll work,” I said. More words spilled forth in the ensuing silence:</p>
<p>
  <em>Over the course of the last eighteen months, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting people from all walks of life. Many of you expressed your enthusiasm for my mother’s presidential campaign, with the hope that an Organa administration will benefit our country. On behalf of my family, I thank you for your support.</em>
</p>
<p><em>Recently, by agreeing to model for Rey Walker, a graduate student at Hoth College of Art and Design, I found myself the center of attention which, I feel, is better directed</em> </p>
<p>I stopped mid-sentence, deleted words and added more, and now stared at a blinking cursor.</p>
<p>“Blocked?” Rey asked.</p>
<p>“Just trying to figure out how to write this without looking like a snob or a jackass. I really want to say my life is my own damn business.”</p>
<p>Rey crossed her hand over the keyboard. I surrendered the laptop as she pulled it closer. She removed the second paragraph altogether and put in its place:</p>
<p>
  <em>For those of you coming to my website for an explanation on my recent modeling work for Rey Walker, a graduate student at Hoth College of Art and Design, here it is: it was my choice to do a favor for a close friend.</em>
</p>
<p>She handed the laptop back to me. I looked at her. “So we’re friends?” I asked.</p>
<p>“Friends with crazy amazing benefits.”</p>
<p>“I’ll leave that part out.” I saved the page. Now came the fun part of creating a personal Twitter account and broadcasting this damn statement. If I could help it, this would be my solitary tweet.</p>
<p>After checking several handles -- a number of variations of my name had been taken for parody accounts, and all used Rey’s photos as avatars -- I finally set up and posted the link. “I suppose I should follow the Organa 2020 account while I’m here,” I said.</p>
<p>“Follow me, too.” Rey gave her handle, then gasped to see how her follower count had spiked overnight. “A hundred thousand people?! I haven’t even said anything yet.”</p>
<p>“Retweet mine then. Get this candle lit.”</p>
<p>She called up her mobile and did just that. We spent the next few minutes watching the numbers on the retweet and like icons spin into double, then triple digits. Rey asked if I felt up to reading responses but I closed the clamshell and lowered it to the floor.</p>
<p>“I’m flying out the day after tomorrow. I’ll talk to online strangers later.” I sank down into bed, taking her with me. The hem of her nightshirt rode up over her thighs and revealed she wore nothing underneath. “I want to hear more about these benefits.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>I heard. Loud and clear.</p>
<p>All through the next day I heard, and felt and gave back. With the exception of bathroom breaks and Thai delivery in the living room with Rose, we didn’t leave the bed.</p>
<p>The plan for the day after, since I had an early flight to McCarran, was to leave Armie’s car at the airport, but as I helped with the dinner dishes Rose offered an alternative. “Finn will give you a ride, and your car can stay here. That way, if anybody’s watching the place they won’t exactly know that you’ve left.”</p>
<p>“They won’t know until somebody sees you at the airport and sneaks a photo, anyway,” Rey added.</p>
<p>At five in the morning, I’d have to wonder if any travelers were so alert. “Well, I don’t quite have the cache to slip through some celebrity VIP entrance, assuming your airport has one.” I dried the plate Rose handed me. “Thinking about it, though, Armie’s car may be better off here instead of a parking garage. Your, uh, friend said he’d give me a lift?”</p>
<p>“It was his idea,” Rose said. “He knows a bit about security from his time in the military.”</p>
<p>Rey was sipping wine and coughed up a mouthful. “You’re still talking to him?”</p>
<p>“We’re still friends.” Rose sounded defensive. “We’re on a break. I haven’t cut him off.”</p>
<p>“Is that the right thing, though?” Rey asked. “What if this break is permanent, and you come off really hurt by him?”</p>
<p>The shift in the atmosphere brought on a coolness amplified by the way these two friends stared each other down. I took that as my cue to politely excuse myself to Rey’s bedroom, where I engaged in the equally uncomfortable task of a social media vanity search.</p>
<p>It amused me, for one, that the president of my country had the time to slut shame me. I had to admit, however, his wit had improved some.</p>
<p>
  <em>I have just one word for Mr. Ben Solo: pants!</em>
</p>
<p>Underneath that, a well-known female comedian tagged me in her reply: <em>Don’t listen to him, Ben!</em></p>
<p>I got two more responses read before I gave up and checked my own profile. No blue tick mark yet, but I’d live. Preferring sleep to self-imposed anxiety, I shut down and got ready for bed. I heard Rey and Rose’s argument rising and ebbing through the closed door, and figured the long-due heart to heart was far from done. I left them to it -- they didn’t need me hovering.</p>
<p>Sometime between that and slipping into bed, I missed another call from Phasma. I powered down the phone and easily forgot her when sleep claimed me, dreaming of someone else.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“Would you mind doing something for me?”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry?” I asked Finn to repeat his question. It was four in the morning and my mind lingered on Rey’s half-conscious goodbye kiss. Parting company well before dawn had become a tradition between us, one neither of us particularly liked. We were both clingy until the end, with Rey’s face buried in my shirt and murmuring how she liked the way I smelled first thing.</p>
<p>Idle chatter with Rose’s boyfriend -- ex, rather -- helped lessen the feeling of loss. I reminded myself I’d see her again soon, but how much time I had free depended on my schedule.</p>
<p>“I may come off like a jerk saying this, but I’m worried about Rose,” Finn was saying. “She’s more than capable of taking care of herself, and I wasn’t too concerned about any potential trouble before... well…”</p>
<p>He was fishing for information, curious to know what I knew. The drive to the airport wasn’t long, but I saw no reason why it had to be awkward. “I don’t know if Rose told you, but my mother and I arranged to refund their reservation. They have a room in our block, and I can assure you it’s the safest place in Vegas right now.”</p>
<p>“I bet. I’m kind of jealous I’m not going,” he said. “Seeing as you are, though, I wanted to ask if you were able to…”</p>
<p>“Keep an eye on her?” I finished, and he nodded. “Well, to be honest, this is a work trip. I can’t say how much of her, or Rey or their friends, I’ll get to see. And, like you said, she takes care of herself.”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Finn shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s early and maybe I’m not running on all gears at the moment. I just --” He seemed to struggle for the right words. “The timing of all this...puts this idea in my head that Rose might do something out of character.”</p>
<p>“If you’re assuming their trip is going to rival <em>The Hangover</em>, I wouldn’t worry.”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t normally, but have you met Holdo?”</p>
<p>I hadn’t, and now I had something else to think about on a seven-hour trip.</p>
<p>“They put her in charge of planning everything. If one of them doesn’t wake up next month in a foreign country I’ll be shocked.”</p>
<p>“You sure you’re not exaggerating a bit?” I did notice he was speeding off the exit to the airport.</p>
<p>He chuckled. “A bit. Don’t listen to me. I’m rambling. Which one’s your gate?”</p>
<p>I pointed and he slowed to a stop along the curb. I declined his offer to help with the bags. “Thanks for the lift. If you’re ever in D.C. I’ll buy you a beer.”</p>
<p>“I’d like that. Thanks.” Another awkward pause followed, and Finn dipped into his shirt pocket. “But in the event things start looking like <em>The Hangover</em>…”</p>
<p>“I’ll ask Ben Kenobi to put the Secret Service on it,” I said, taking his card.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Ben - The Gamble</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Ben wonders if his luck is about to run out.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Your kind words are appreciated, thanks!</p><p>A content warning may be in order here (not really sure), with a scene implying a past non-consensual action - nothing violent. Peace.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>No hitches on the flight out or the connector. By all appearances, everybody in my airspace minded their own business. If people snapped photos or recorded my travels from Virginia to Vegas, it happened under thick veils of secrecy, or on social accounts with little to no traction.</p><p>Despite seven hours in the air, I flew back three time zones so it was still morning when I landed. I deplaned in want of the strongest coffee legally sold in the state and time to digest it, yet lines at every cafe storefront and kiosk stood at least five bodies long and I hadn’t the patience. I plowed on to baggage claim, then to my shuttle.</p><p>The van’s sliding door opened to reveal my father, holding out a lidded paper cup with a cardboard sleeve bearing the Organa 2020 logo. “You look terrible,” he said.</p><p>“It’s hereditary.” I took the coffee and smiled, knowing he had no perfect comeback to it. “Am I the last one here?”</p><p>“Not counting Ben and Luke, yeah. They’ll be arriving later, so no need to wait.” He tapped the driver’s headrest and we were off. </p><p>Chewie’s absence was obvious from the moment I stepped into the van. “Mother let you come out here alone?”</p><p>“It’s three miles one way. What’s the worst that could happen?”</p><p><em>In Vegas?</em> He had to ask, but I kept my mouth shut. It’s true we didn’t have far to drive to the sprawling Canto Bight resort on the Strip, but even the morning traffic slogged like cooling lava along the local road. I used the time to study the landscape. Vegas in daytime looked like any major city dropped in the middle of the desert. Closer in, the wow factor began to take shape with tall hotels and digital billboards pushing everything from penny slots to nickel beer at their respective venues. </p><p>We approached the arena where the convention was being held. On their billboard, split screen clips of Mother and Gial Ackbar mouthing campaign promises filled the screen. It looked like an advertisement for a senior-division UFC match.</p><p>Across the street, a stories-tall digital sign displayed Phasma in a silver corset with matching miniskirt blowing a kiss to drivers below.</p><p>“Look at that. They found a sign the size of her ego,” Dad said.</p><p>I pressed the coffee lid to my lip, hiding my smile. “Has she been up to our floor?”</p><p>“She’s not on the list. If she’s tried, I can’t tell you.” Dad handed me a credit card-sized envelope. “Speaking of, here is your card key. You’ll need it to access the VIP floors. Just put it in the slot. We’re on the top.”</p><p>“Got it.” Phasma would expect me to come to her, anyway. Not a chance.</p><p>I sank back into my seat as we pulled into a back entrance used for VIP guests. A pair of stewards in matching red jackets pushed a luggage cart to the curb and collected my things. “They’ll take everything upstairs,” Dad was telling me as he pulled out tens for each of them from his bomber jacket. “Let’s go for a walk. I haven’t seen this place yet.”</p><p>I hadn’t planned to explore a hotel the size of Disneyland. I was tired. I longed for a bed or least a large couch on which to recharge before getting to work. “I think Mother would want us to come straight up.”</p><p>“Your mother has been talking with news affiliates since the crack of dawn. She doesn’t even know what time it is, much less that I’ve even left the compound,” he groused. “Come on!” The pitch of Dad’s voice easily revealed his desire to escape politics and lose himself -- and win some money -- at the blackjack tables. I imagined our “walk” would end abruptly at the nearest one. </p><p>Later, when Mother reamed him a new one about it, he’d say something like, “Hey, Ben was feeling lucky.” If Vegas had good odds on that…</p><p>Half a dozen steps through a nondescript corridor, we were waylaid by a tall, thin gentleman with wispy blond hair and wide eyes, wearing a black suit. A shiny name tag pinned to one lapel identified him as Threepio, Canto Bight’s VIP concierge. “Mr. Solo, and Mr. Solo,” he greeted us in a light, accented voice, “I hope everything on your floor has been to your satisfaction so far?”</p><p>“I can’t complain, and the kid just got here so neither can he. We thought we’d check out the action on the floor,” Dad said, looking everywhere but at the man.</p><p>“Very well.” Threepio handed me a business card. “If there is anything you need, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”</p><p>“We have four guests arriving tomorrow,” I said, tucking the card in my pocket. “I’d like them brought through here if it’s possible.” Better to be safe, in case Rey walking through the front doors caused a scene.</p><p>“Of course. Just forward me their names and flight information and I’ll schedule a private shuttle.”</p><p>I thanked the man; Dad was already out the door. I went to follow but Threepio cleared his throat.</p><p>“One more thing,” he said, and handed me a small envelope. “I was instructed to deliver this to you personally upon your arrival.” The way he said it made it sound like an inconvenience.</p><p>I recognized Phasma’s scrawl on the front, and understood. She probably threatened the poor man with a heel to the kneecap if he failed his mission. I thanked him again and walked away, reading as I went.</p><p>It was a folded sheet of hotel stationary, bearing one sentence: <em>I must see you.</em> </p><p>No room number, no mention of a meeting time or place. She must, but expected me to do the work.</p><p>I crumpled the note into a ball and tossed it in the first trash can I saw before joining Dad.</p><p>***</p><p>On past Vegas trips, I stayed closer to the Fremont Street area. It spoke more of the Vegas experience to me, with its explosion of lights and color, walls of blinking bulbs and crowds collectively gaping at the spectacle. Plus, rates were typically cheaper and one could walk the streets without being bothered. </p><p>This was my first visit to Canto Bight, which was built from two neighboring resorts purchased by an entertainment conglomerate in a bankruptcy sale. Walking through this part of the resort, I spotted remnants of the previous tenant’s Old World motif in framed photographs along some of the bar areas.</p><p>Canto Bight as a whole represented, according to their marketing, the future of Vegas: net-zero energy buildings and waste-heat recovery, on-site gardens growing herbs and vegetables for their restaurants, and augmented reality entertainment for those looking for a break from gambling. Strap on a pair of VR goggles and shoot down aliens.</p><p>Mother’s advisors argued for staying here based on the idea voters might view her as a candidate concerned about environmental matters. That, and the arena was literally across the street. The short walk would add to her approval rating.</p><p>Inside, everything looked clean and bright, like an Apple Genius bar stuffed with slot machines. Those, like the pads and phones, operated touchscreen instead of as one-armed bandits. Overall, though, the place lacked the smoky, bourbon and steak dinner vibe of Sinatra’s Vegas, but I could see why Rey and her friends chose to stay here for their trip. Canto Bight included an upscale shopping area and luxury spa, a huge pool area with swim-up bars and waterfalls, and three nightclubs. No reason to leave the premises.</p><p>Reading the confusion on my father’s face as we took in the scenery, I realized he yearned for the days of old. Maybe there was a VR game for that.</p><p>Granted, the casino floor sounded like Vegas should. Dad had to yell at me over the din of swirling calliope whistles and jackpot alarms.</p><p>“It’s like somebody hosed the city down with Purell!”</p><p>“I’m kind of hungry, Dad.”</p><p>“Fine. Let’s look over here.”</p><p>The wayfinding system provided bright signage throughout the resort. We found an illuminated directory not unlike one seen in a shopping mall, and started for one of the inclusive cafes. I would have been happy ordering in the rooms, but despite his distaste for the casino decor Dad wasn’t ready to give up.</p><p>Halfway there, we came upon the La Cage @ Canto, so read the neon pink cursive marquee. <em>Nightly Drag Revue, Voted Best in Vegas!</em> promised the sandwich board in multiple colors of chalk, blocking the entrance. Next to that, an equally vibrant drag queen carnival-barked to passersby while handing out flyers. The voluminous blonde wig helped put the person almost at my height.</p><p>“Two shows nightly! Come see our queens pout and preen! The drinks are cheap but I’m extra.” The drag queen then turned our way and let out a high-pitched squeal that had Dad pinching the bridge of his nose.</p><p>“Oh. Holy. Shit. It’s you.” Flyers littered the floor and we could only stare at this person in thick platform heels and a blue-sequined gown with silver elbow-length gloves gesticulating wildly at us. “I just want to say, Mr. Solo, your wife is a goddess! I am so looking forward to her kicking Palpatine’s ass.”</p><p>My unflappable father gave her a small salute and said, “Don’t forget to vote, and we’ll make it happen.”</p><p>“Oh, honey, that’s a given. I want her to literally put a boot in the man’s ass at their first debate.”</p><p>“Me, too.”</p><p>“And you,” turning on me now, hands on hips. “You warned your mama before you went and posed for those nudie pictures?”</p><p>“Uh…”</p><p>“He didn’t,” Dad said, eyeing me with scorn.</p><p>This imposing drag performer gave me a look that could slice through bone. “You trying to give Leia Organa a heart attack this close to an election? Have you lived through these last three years?”</p><p>“What did I tell you?” Dad nudged me.</p><p>“She said she was fine with it. It was a small art school exhibit. I didn’t remake <em>Deep Throat</em>. Why am I explaining this in the middle of a casino?” I sensed that this person was funning with me, but I suppose lack of food and rest wound me up. I watched those thick heels scoot back a bit.</p><p>“Hey, is the bar open?” Dad crooked his head toward the entrance. “He can explain while we drink.”</p><p>“It is for you two, and your money’s no good here. C’mon back, dears.” Our host, introduced as Maybelline -- pronouns <em>she</em> and <em>her</em> when in persona -- turned out to be the club's owner and manager. For the moment, our bartender as well.</p><p>I slid on a stool next to Dad’s. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to drink on an empty stomach,” I whispered. His response was to grab the nearest bowl of rice crackers.</p><p>“Knock yourself out, kid,” he said. I started picking out the dried wasabi peas.</p><p>Maybelline set down two napkins. “Mr. Solo, I am honored to have you visit my little establishment. I have seen you race many times, huge fan. I was there at the Vegas Speedway the night you won the Winston Million.”</p><p>Terrific. If ever Dad discovered a chatty fan, it was a sign to get comfortable while they talked shop. I grabbed for a second bowl of rice crackers at the opposite side of the bar.</p><p>“Yeah, that was some night.” Dad’s eyes took on a mellow glow in the fluorescent lit bar. “It was a big gamble changing out two tires instead of four at that last pit stop. It bought me enough time to keep the lead, though.” He elbowed me. “Your Uncle Lando didn’t speak to me for weeks after that. Remember?”</p><p>“No, Dad. I was two.”</p><p>“I wasn’t that much that older, but I remember it clearly,” Maybelline said, removing her gloves. “I’ve been attending races since before I got my first training bra. Now,” she slapped the bar, “what’re you drinking?”</p><p>“Rye,” we said in unison.</p><p>Maybelline’s smile nearly touched her eyes. Her makeup gave that impression, anyway. “I love a man of few words,” she said and pulled a bottle from an unseen well. “I’m what you call a farm to fork queen, in that I endeavor to serve as much local fare as possible. It’s a challenge when you live in the middle of a flipping desert, but I make it work. This,” her long red fingernails drummed on the bottle, “is a limited batch honey rye distilled just outside the city limits, and it is fabulous. But why take my word for it?”</p><p>She lined up three shots. We each took one, toasted to Mother’s impending victory, and down the hatch. Fabulous indeed, like fire through my veins. Dad hardly flinched.</p><p>“One more for the road?” Maybelline offered.</p><p>I covered my glass, but Dad pointed to his. “Let’s get a few bottles of this ordered for the rooms,” he said. “If your mother won’t let me play cards this week, I need some kind of distraction.”</p><p>“There’s always the show.” I nodded toward the red-curtained stage. I asked Maybelline about the entertainment. She explained the rotation of shows -- mostly lip-sync revues featuring drag impersonators dressed to resemble their respective pop stars, and the occasional reenactment of an 80s or 90s sitcom, which wasn’t scheduled during our time here.</p><p>She ticked off a list of their more popular impressions; I noticed one glaring omission. When I asked about Phas, I got a sour look. “Well we did, until one of her lawyers sent us a cease and desist.”</p><p>Dad pointed to his glass again. “She was probably ticked that your show was better than hers.”</p><p>That made our host laugh. “Well, technically we are the competition, and our show has some variety. She hasn’t changed her setlist in a few weeks, though I hear it will soon.” She obliged Dad with one more pour, then waved the bottle over our heads and asked, “Wet your whistle, Chewie?”</p><p><em>Shit</em>. I felt his presence as soon as she addressed him. Maybelline, were she serious about being a fan, would certainly have recognized Chewie. I swear, he was born with the beard. </p><p>His stealth approach unnerved me, though. Maybe Finn should have asked him to keep an eye on Rose this weekend.</p><p>Chewie’s hand touched down on my shoulder and squeezed hard, a signal that playing hooky was over. He nodded to our host, then whispered in Dad’s ear.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. We’re leaving,” Dad groused and handed a bill to a protesting Maybelline. “It’s for the tip share,” he added. “It’s the least we can do, being the party of the working man.”</p><p>Maybelline clutched the ten in her long fingers and blew a kiss. “I know you all have a busy week, but say the word and I’ll set aside the best table in the house.”</p><p>Chewie had all but lifted Dad off his stool by now. “Oh, I bet the Queen Mother’s calling you home,” Maybelline said, and Chewie winked over his sunglasses. “Tell you what, there’s a shortcut to the VIP elevators through our kitchens.” She beckoned us to a door marked <em>Employees Only</em>. “Go through that far door and take the corridor all the way to the end. Hang a left, you can’t miss them.”</p><p>I made to follow Dad and Chewie but Maybelline halted me with a light touch. “And if you go right,” she said, “it will take you to elevators leading to the skybox level of the arena, where Canto Bight employees are known to sneak in to watch rehearsals. In fact, she should be there now.”</p><p>Good information to have, not that I intended to use it. I thanked her and tried to leave, but she gave me pause with one last bit of advice.</p><p>“What I said about her changing the setlist? You might want to pop in and have a listen. And a good long look.”</p><p>Ominous. I arched an eyebrow at her. “Will I get ejected if I’m found?”</p><p>“Not if you have this.” She held up a laminated arena pass.</p><p>***</p><p>Dad and Chewie beat me to the VIP elevator. I texted that I was taking a brief detour. The Captain’s response: <em>Don’t do anything stupid.</em></p><p>Too late. For every step I took toward the Canto Bight arena, I wanted to double back. Maybelline’s cryptic recommendation to sneak into Phasma’s rehearsal prompted me to commit the one act I’d hoped to avoid while here. With every step, Phas was getting her way. I was coming to her.</p><p>I hated that. Yet, if my ex planned to cause my family any embarrassment it was important to find out. Sending another person from our camp, even Chewie, wouldn’t scare her. I wasn’t certain I stood a chance.</p><p>I followed Maybelline’s directions, swiping the pass inside the cab to get to the skyboxes. I’d have my pick, she said, since most were unlocked for cleaning during the day. I chose a small one and for good measure locked the door to discourage visitors. I’d think up an excuse if I got caught.</p><p>Canto Bight’s arena sat ten thousand, and Phasma had sold out every night of her residency. Surely a good number of tickets were repeat attendees -- her devoted Phasmatics. Looking down at the rows of folded chairs close to the stage, I saw remnants of past shows in handmade posters taped to the stage -- her fans proclaiming their undying love. It wouldn’t have surprised me to find a few of her ardent followers enjoying a behind the scenes experience. </p><p>Rank has its privileges. </p><p>The indoor lounge area of my skybox held a leather sofa, a wet bar, a long buffet positioned against the wall, and a large flatscreen. On the other side of the glass partition split by a door were two tiers of stadium seats, four each for this particular box. </p><p>I chanced a peek outside and saw some boxes had longer rows of seating, ranging from six to eight per row. From where I stood, I viewed the stage dead-on. Two large screens, currently blank, were suspended on either side while a screen wall in the back displayed a psychedelic screen saver pattern. One riser in the back, to stage left, supported a full drum set; smaller platforms stage right held keyboards and a DJ setup.</p><p>In the foreground, six people in dance clothes paced and stretched. Phasma wasn’t among them. I soon learned why; a booming voice from above ordered everybody to first position to go over the first three numbers. They took their places behind the instruments and at microphones, and I realized these weren’t her dancers.</p><p>“From the top,” called the phantom voice. “<em>Rock Me Tonight</em> to <em>Faded Memory</em>.”</p><p><em>Rock Me Tonight</em> was her breakthrough hit; it didn’t reach number one on the charts, but it lingered for months and I heard it in commercials and film trailers. She could probably have retired on that song alone had she written it. </p><p>With the arena now completely dark, I figured it was okay to watch from the outside seats, but all the same I tried to make myself small.</p><p>The background screen lit up again with a short film in black and white, the camera panning across a desert landscape and pausing on a long stretch of road. A woman’s thumb in hitchhiking position came into view on the right as a lengthy guitar intro to the song swelled, and the camera panned back to reveal Phasma in cutoff jean shorts and a sleeveless gingham blouse tied off above her navel. She looked windblown and determined as she walked backward, coming to a sign reading <em>Las Vegas, 50 miles.</em></p><p>I expected a vintage sidestep truck driven by a shirtless cowboy to come rolling up to claim her, but instead it looked as though somebody cranked up the wind machine. Phasma looked up as color bled slowly onto the screen, and streams of light shone down on her form.</p><p>The guitar solo segued into some odd remix featuring sci-fi sound effects.</p><p>“The fuck?” I muttered. The world-weary desert hitchhiker was being abducted by aliens. The scene flipped to the interior of a dark spaceship, with Phasma strapped to an upright platform, looking frightened for her life. Half a dozen space soldiers, dressed head to toe in white armor and unsmiling helmets, trooped into the small interrogation room to surround her with blasters drawn. </p><p>Her captor was a tall being in black, also helmeted, long cape swirling behind them. Phasma delivered a defiant snarl usually reserved for demanding to speak to a manager. Which, I suppose, was this person.</p><p>“Who are you and what do you want?” she shouted.</p><p>“As of now I am your master.” The response came deep and menacing.</p><p>They traded some more stilted dialogue while Phasma writhed in her bondage. Without an enthusiastic audience to cheer on the action, the whole scene played out as odd. Of course, I hadn’t seen Phasma perform live beyond the fundraiser and a few shows before her breakthrough album, and she hadn’t graduated to this level of concept show yet. </p><p>Eventually her captor in black announced that he would send Phasma back to Earth as his “secret weapon.” He ordered her to seduce the masses with her beauty and her music, and ultimately bring them under his power. People were supposed to cheer for this? </p><p>The screen faded to black and digital flames burst across the screen as six white-armored soldiers marched into view from behind the screen and down a series of steps to the lip of the stage. While the intro music dragged on, the troupe launched into a hybrid dance and goose-stepping routine as a shining figure rose from a back platform.</p><p>Phasma -- had to be her, judging by the height -- emerged in similar armor, only hers was a shining chrome. The music reached a crescendo in time to her dramatic reveal. She lifted her helmet, there came a pause, and she belted out, <em>Rock me toniiiiiiiight!</em></p><p>The stage became drowned in light during the number, which sounded edgier than the radio version. I wondered at first how Phasma might pull off a dance in such an outfit, but throughout the song her “soldiers” spun around her and plucked off pieces of armor. By song’s end, she posed in a one-piece glittering leotard and white fishnets with white knee-high boots.</p><p>The phantom voice then counted backwards from five, and a drum solo signaled the next number, a Madonna cover Phas was fond of singing. “All right, Las Vegas!” she shouted into her head mic, “This is where I tell you to get off your asses and dance!” The soldiers were gone but returned halfway through the number, their armor shed and revealing similar skimpy dress.</p><p>The third song, <em>Faded Memory</em>, I didn’t know. The phantom countdown gave way to a more somber intro over which Phasma talked on a now dark stage, a long spotlight tracking her as she paced.</p><p>“We’re gonna switch gears for a moment,” she said, “with a song you’re hearing for the first time ever. This one’s for everybody who has loved, and lost...but can’t quite escape a faded memory.”</p><p>Pitch black. A second later there’s an abrupt flash on the big screen -- a side view of Phasma clad in a bra and panties, falling back on a bed. The next flash lasted a bit longer, with Phasma rising a bit to meet a shirtless man leaning down to kiss her.</p><p><em>We began with forever</em>, Phasma sang. No lights revealed her onstage, not that I cared. I focused on that screen, that disjointed movie playing out to her mournful soundtrack, and the actor who looked very familiar.</p><p>
  <em>What went wrong?</em>
</p><p>In the third flash Phasma and her lover had lost their clothing and now coupled with a sheet covering them below the waist. White satin. I knew because I’d been in that bed, and soon every person sitting in this arena would watch me making love to her.</p><p>I lay on top, wrapped around her. Her breasts were crushed against me; a slip in one direction would easily expose them. I remembered that night. She’d been eager to go to bed and fool around. To think I believed at the time she was hungry for me...</p><p>Those mirrored walls...she had a camera behind them. She’d fucking recorded us without my knowledge. </p><p>Why? Blackmail came to mind, but apparently this was her definition of creative license.</p><p><em>I must see you</em>, she’d written. To tell me about this, and maybe to bargain with me to put a stop to it?</p><p>Phasma continued to sing, but the words left my mind as quickly as they’d come. The video wasn’t explicit, but edited enough to make it clear that I was the man with her.</p><p>Phasma had edited the clip to correspond with her lyrics. In one instance, I turned to face the camera right when she turned toward the screen. <em>When will you be nothing more than a faded memory?</em> she sang to my image.</p><p>She made it look like I consented to being a part of her show. I felt sick.</p><p>I stood on rubber legs and grasped a railing to pull my body back into the skybox. I brought out my phone to text for Dad, Chewie...somebody to come help, but instead I collapsed by the nearest trash can and threw up.</p><p>In the distance, Phasma’s song continued to accuse me of wrongs I hadn’t committed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Ben & Rey - We Have Snacks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Ben runs on Dunkin' (sort of).</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Ben</em>
</p>
<p>Organa Central buzzed like a busy campaign headquarters should on the first day of a party’s convention. Laptops cluttered most of the flat surfaces in the common area, while those occupying bedrooms left the doors wide open to display activity -- over the shoulder consultations and loud phone conversations. In the midst of it all, the Captain and his BFF Lando shared a sofa and a longneck bottle apiece.</p>
<p>Uncle Lando slapped his free hand against mine in a bro handshake. “So when am I meeting this new lady of yours?”</p>
<p>“The fifth of never.”</p>
<p>He laughed.</p>
<p>Chewie was standing guard in the small open galley kitchen, but left briefly and handed me a hi-ball glass of club soda. Dude is fucking psychic to know what my nervous stomach required at that moment.</p>
<p>I wondered if something stronger was possible to get down, considering the news I had to share with my parents. I asked the room to be excused, and Mother locked me and Dad in one of the bedrooms. They sat on the edge of the bed and I took the only chair. Gauzy curtains muted the illuminated Strip, and as I realized exactly how high we were above the city my stomach flipped again.</p>
<p>Neither one spoke until I finished relaying what I had seen downstairs. Dad cringed and cursed silently most of the way through it, but Mother’s poker face could have won her millions in this town.</p>
<p>After I finished, Dad drew in a deep breath and said, “I’ll put Chewie on it.”</p>
<p>“On what? An ‘accident’?” I demanded. “He’s supposed to chuck her body into the Grand Canyon when he’s done?”</p>
<p>“I’m not saying we kill her, son, just put the fear of the Almighty in her, is all.” Dad’s gaze pierced me. “We’re not mobsters like the current administration.”</p>
<p>“How is launching a fear tactic not acting like a thug?”</p>
<p>Mother wisely waited for us to calm down before speaking. “Ben, for as much as we’ve talked in the last few days, you would prefer I don’t interfere with your life, personal or otherwise,” she said. “It’s one thing to consent to participating in a photography exhibit, but what you’ve just described…it can’t be legal.” The anguish in her expression pained me as well, though I gathered she focused more on what this might do to me -- and in some way Rey -- rather than her chances at the nomination.</p>
<p>“Are you certain it was you up here?” she asked. “The things people do with video these days. She could have hired a lookalike, or doctored footage of you from somewhere else.”</p>
<p>“It was me. That was her house in California. I had no clue the place was wired for video.”</p>
<p>“Criminy,” Dad muttered, and Mother silenced him with a look.</p>
<p>“Well, I certainly have ideas on how to proceed, but,” Mother gestured to me, “tell us what you think.”</p>
<p>“I believe,” I said, taking a breath, “that video won’t run at her next concert.”</p>
<p>“What makes you so sure?” Dad asked. “You said you saw her rehearsing a shitty ballad to it.”</p>
<p>“Because I think that in itself was a show. She intended only for me to see it. For now.”</p>
<p>Mother said nothing, just folded her hands in a praying position and pressed them to her lips.</p>
<p>“I had time to think about it on the way here. The drag queen at the bar tips me off, gives me the elevator pass. I sneak into the arena skybox just as she’s about to rehearse that song. It all struck me as too polished, you know?” I mentioned how I’d missed two calls from Phasma, and the note from the concierge. “Phasma’s been here a while. Who’s to say she didn’t arrange for people to be on the lookout? If not that drag queen, maybe a different bartender or clerk hands me that pass.”</p>
<p>Dad rose from the bed and paced. “That’s quite a gamble. I certainly didn’t plan to walk into that nightclub today. Amazing she might think that,” he said. “It would’ve made more sense for her to use that Threepio guy.”</p>
<p>I doubted that. A VIP concierge seemed higher on the food chain, less able to push around. Passing a simple note was one thing, but if Threepio knew that video existed his thoughts were likely to turn to the hotel, and what to do to avoid litigation.</p>
<p>“Well, your former lady friend thrives in the theatrical,” Dad said. “Takes less energy and money to knock on a door, if you ask me.”</p>
<p>“Are you saying you plan to ignore all of this? Call her bluff?” Mother asked. “Your new lady friend arrives here soon. What if she goes to Phasma’s show and sees that?”</p>
<p>“They don’t have tickets to her show. Rey mentioned that to me the other night.”</p>
<p>“You’ve forgotten where we are, son,” Dad said. “People get comped for all sorts of things here. If Phasma was able to bribe a club owner to get you into a closed rehearsal, handing free concert tickets to your new gal pal is a breeze.”</p>
<p>“I have been completely transparent with Rey, especially about my history with Phas.”</p>
<p>Dad leaned closed to me, eyebrows raised and gaze wild. “What about the rest of the world?”</p>
<p>“Han, please.” Mother checked her phone and stood. “We have company now. Let’s keep this quiet for now. As I understand it, Canto Bight's arena is dark tonight so Ben has time to respond if he chooses.” She touched her hands to my face and pulled me down for a kiss. “Just ask,” she whispered and I nodded.</p>
<p>I wouldn’t. Phasma could be devious, but she was smart. Using that footage in her show opened her up to big, big trouble. I’d see she got the message.</p>
<p>We rejoined the common area to find Armie and my team huddled around one end of the large dining table, trading fast food bags between them. Closer to the door, a diminutive figure had gathered Chewie into a tight hug. Mother walked over to greet our visitor, the woman she intended to announce as her running mate.</p>
<p>Senator Maz Kanata hugged her, greeted Lando, then shuffled over to me and the Captain. “I trust the two of you are staying out of trouble.” Her eyes focused more on me.</p>
<p>“Taking a break from it. We’ll be here a while, so we have to spread it out,” Dad said, then asked if her bags were coming.</p>
<p>“I’m at the Mos Eisley. It’s my way of throwing the media off the scent,” she said. I understood her logic, and in a way I didn’t. Political analysts on every news channel had predicted Maz as Mother’s Veep choice for the last month. My guess? The show of staying at a different hotel was a message to Ackbar that Mother might consider him as a running mate, thereby encouraging him to stand aside.</p>
<p>I doubted that would play out, though. Ackbar wanted the top position, too. I predicted him to cling to the very end.</p>
<p>“I’m not staying long, however,” Maz was saying. “I’ve come to borrow someone of yours for a long, late lunch.” She leaned back to regard Chewie. “Then I’ll meet you at the venue as planned? Will you be there, Ben?”</p>
<p>“Eventually.” I looked over her at the table. Jacen and Jaina had dumped several boxes of fries onto a folded bag before devouring half of them. “We have most of the social media team here, though, so I’ll be parsing out the work.”</p>
<p>“Good for you. It’s healthy to take time for yourself.” She winked and let Dad escort her back to the door.</p>
<p>I shook off the remark. Not everything said was a veiled commentary about my love life, I told myself. I was feeling like hell, though, and believed somebody else should work the first night of the big show.</p>
<p>“Wait up, I’ll walk down with you.” Lando grabbed the jacket draped over the back of the couch. “I haven’t tried the tables at the Mos Eisley yet, and I sure as hell didn’t come all this way to watch TV.”</p>
<p>“We won’t wait up. Have fun.” Mother waved them off. Dad ached to tag along, that was obvious, but hung back as Mother paged her security team for the short trip to the venue. “Ben, your packet is in your room. Everybody else has theirs.” She looked up to address the whole team. “If you want to come by in the evening, that’s fine. There’s not much going on right now. I think you’ll have better opportunities for social content later --”</p>
<p>She eyed me, must have seen something in the way I reacted, and added, “But Ben should be telling you these things, of course.” With that, my parents left and I took a free chair at the table.</p>
<p>Armie offered me a stronger drink, which I declined. He slid the fries closer. “Where’s the girl?”</p>
<p>“Never mind her. I missed you.” I winked. “I hope you remembered to pack those silk boxers I love so much.”</p>
<p>“Blow me, Solo.”</p>
<p>I had a great retort, but bit my tongue. Jacen howled at our repartee, but Jaina’s expression radiated discomfort. This being her first trip with the campaign, I remembered she wasn’t used to our risque back and forth. So, I cleared my throat and turned to serious topics.</p>
<p>Together, we hashed out a schedule to cover the important speeches and shadow Mother for the various meet and greets with delegates and other notable people at the event. Jacen appeared starstruck when I asked if he could handle tweeting Ben Kenobi’s speech in real-time.</p>
<p>“I’ll take care of my uncle’s speech,” I told him. People who didn’t know Uncle Luke often startled at his curt demeanor, whereas Ben was America’s grandfather. It made more sense this way.</p>
<p>I asked Jaina to see the preview graphics for each speaker on our team, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. I glared at Armie to stifle his snickering.</p>
<p>She recovered quickly and turned her laptop toward me, brushing away a few stray fries. On the whole her work looked good. Her use of background colors used in our promotional materials helped make the headshots of each speaker pop. “Awesome,” I told her. “Make sure Jacen has them to schedule in social. We want to release each one about fifteen minutes before their scheduled time. The Organa/Kanata logo we’ll save closer to the end, of course.” I thought about reaching for the fries, but they didn’t look appetizing. “I’m going to order my lunch now. Anybody want anything else?”</p>
<p>Armie held up his phone. “I found a few places you might like. Oh, I need to show you some notes for Luke’s speech.” He gestured to our room and I followed him inside.</p>
<p>He shut the door. No speech, no food tips. Just my naked self as the home screen on his phone.</p>
<p>“Dude, really?”</p>
<p>Armie was shaking his head. “This is Jaina’s phone,” he whispered. “What did I tell you?”</p>
<p><em>Oh, shit.</em> “Why do you have this?” I hissed. “This is not our business.”</p>
<p>“It’s not? And your girlfriend is due here when? Forget the convention. This is where the action is.”</p>
<p>Armie was out the door. I prayed for my friend not to embarrass the girl, and all I could do was stand frozen in the threshold while he returned to the table. Jaina was still focused on her laptop, and Armie came around to watch her work, complimenting and pointing at the screen.</p>
<p>While nobody but me looked, he deftly set her phone back in its spot and grabbed his. “All right, Ben, let’s get lunch ordered,” he said, flashing a delivery app screen in my direction.</p>
<p>“In a minute.” I sealed myself off from the common area and took a deep breath, wondering how many more women I’d be worrying about this week.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>
  <em>Rey</em>
</p>
<p>Half past nine, Ben rang while I lay in bed with the latest book from the stack near my bed. I called up the video app and his weary yet smiling expression filled my screen. “You look like you flew there without the plane,” I said after our greetings.</p>
<p>“This city takes a lot out of you five minutes after you arrive. Am I calling too late?”</p>
<p>“Hardly. I just got back from some shopping for the trip.”</p>
<p>“Would you like to see the view from your room?”</p>
<p>Of course I did. Ben turned the phone's POV to show me all of Vegas. It wasn’t close to sunset there yet, but the sky had taken on hints of yellow and orange. The lights flashed as though moonrise had come, however. From this vantage point I counted a dozen hotels and watched car traffic thicken the main drag.</p>
<p>“It looks amazing. I can’t wait to be there.”</p>
<p>“I can’t wait either,” he said. “I wish you were here now.”</p>
<p>“Let me see you.”</p>
<p>The camera panned back to Ben. He now rested against a headboard. “I’m walking over to the convention in a little bit. They had some re-shuffling in the schedule, and it's kept our team on alert. Ben Kenobi is speaking tonight instead of tomorrow, and from what I hear he’s gone straight to the arena. I put one of the team on his speech. I’ll probably just hang out in our skybox suite there or walk around.”</p>
<p>“Does that mean he’s leaving early?” Ben’s mother didn’t yet count, and I looked forward to meeting an actual president.</p>
<p>“I’m not sure. It’s been a while since the whole family’s gotten together. Ben may just stick around for a bit.”</p>
<p>“You sound bored,” I told him. “How can that possibly be?”</p>
<p>He smiled again. “Trust me, my first few hours here were anything but.” I got the story in a slow, careful narrative. Ben paused often as though contemplating my reactions, but in time I had a clearer picture of what to expect when I arrived.</p>
<p>“Ben, I took a course on copyright and legal issues in photography as part of my degree. She broke the law when she recorded the two of you.” My heart dropped to my stomach thinking of it. “She has to prove you gave consent, or else it’s her word against yours.”</p>
<p>“She never had it. Even if I was some regular Joe, not famous, I wouldn’t agree to something like that.”</p>
<p>“You can also sue her, you know.” Misappropriation of his likeness, for one. Surely Nevada also had a revenge porn law; Phasma’s stunt left her skating a very thin line, and I had to wonder why nobody in her camp dissuaded her from showing that video.</p>
<p>“I know.” Ben sighed. “I’m not after her money, though I’d probably have any damages awarded donated to charity. Anyway, like I told you, the plan is to call her bluff. She’s smart enough to know the trouble she’ll get into if that clip airs during her concert.”</p>
<p>“Is it smart to ignore Phasma?” I asked. “Bluffing or not, she’s after a strong reaction from you. What if she escalates if you don’t respond to her?”</p>
<p>Ben shook his head. “Maybe I should reach out to her, but I can’t imagine what she wants to tell me. I have no intention of rekindling a romance with her, even if you and I weren’t…”</p>
<p>“Having an affair?” I supplied.</p>
<p>He bit his lower lip for one second, and said, “Yes. Is there a flight leaving in the next hour?”</p>
<p>“I looked, sorry. Besides, I haven’t packed yet.”</p>
<p>“There are stores here.”</p>
<p>“Don’t I know it,” I laughed. “Holdo scheduled a trip for her and me to visit the largest sex toy emporium in the United States, which is down the street from the hotel.”</p>
<p>“Of course. Why do you think the party picked Vegas for the convention?” He winked.</p>
<p>“Funny. We’re going to buy Kay’s bachelorette gifts there while Rose keeps her busy.” I had an ulterior motive for shopping there instead of here. The idea that a TSA agent might X-ray a bag and confiscate a sex toy in front of a line of strangers mortified me. Holdo suggested we could sue in such an instance, but I refused to test that theory. “Before you ask,” I added, “we’re keeping it tasteful. Don’t think a maid will come in and find a giant novelty dildo in your mother’s campaign headquarters.”</p>
<p>“I’m not worried. Armie can spin pretty much anything if word gets out,” he said. I watched his expression turn devilish. “Gonna get something for yourself?”</p>
<p>“Interesting you should ask. We all went out to the local store after dinner.” The Pink Banana, despite its name, was one of the classier boutiques I’d patronized. The front showroom offered an extensive display of elegant but sexy lingerie and club wear, and newly-single Rose had expressed her desire to take on Vegas in something flashier than what she already owned. So, off we went.</p>
<p>Holdo, naturally, was attracted to the back room, which required an ID check before they buzzed you in. She dragged me in there to inspect new arrivals in all things battery operated and rated XXX. “I hadn’t intended to buy anything,” I told Ben, “until I remembered what you said a few days ago about fucking my ass.”</p>
<p>“You bought a copy of <em>Anal for Dummies</em>.” He gaped in mock surprise.</p>
<p>“I bought a plug.”</p>
<p>“Let’s see it.”</p>
<p>I shook my head. “I have it on. In. Whatever,” I said.</p>
<p>“So? Put your phone between your legs and --”</p>
<p>“No!” I cried out, and laughed. At that moment, I squirmed a bit on my side and clenched around the small, stubby plug. The sensation was new to me. Before Ben called, I was looking up everything available about using these things. Holdo recommended silicone over metal (<em>You don’t want metal in your body if you’re not sure where it’s from</em>) and glass (<em>I only trust quality glass toys, and these aren’t them</em>). Of course, buying the plug meant going to the grocery store for coconut oil because today I learned silicone-based lube won’t always work with a silicone toy.</p>
<p>If you buy a girl a butt plug, yada yada.</p>
<p>“Now you know, too,” I said to Ben after telling the story. “Anyway, I’m trying to get used to it so I’m not screaming bloody murder when the time comes. What’s so funny?”</p>
<p>“Never occurred to me to use coconut oil as a lube. Chewie buys that stuff by the case for his Bulletproof coffee drinks.”</p>
<p>“You sure that’s all he’s--”</p>
<p>“Don’t go there, please.” He raised an eyebrow. “He won’t miss a bottle.”</p>
<p>“Saves a trip to the store, I guess,” I agreed, “but there’s more here you want to say. I sense it.”</p>
<p>“I still have that pass to the arena skyboxes.” He rolled his lower lip between his teeth for a few seconds. “Was thinking if we could get in there while she’s rehearsing again I could bend you over the railing and...oh, shit.”</p>
<p>I heard a rumbling noise, and Ben disappeared from view. I realized somebody or something had knocked the phone from his hand.</p>
<p>“Ben?” I called out. I watched his camera’s point of view swipe and shake around the room, and in seconds another man’s face -- paler and impish -- filled the screen and grinned at me.</p>
<p>“Hi, Rey. I’m Ben’s BFF. I know he’s told you all about me.” This could only be Armitage, the ladies’ man.</p>
<p>I politely greeted him, trying not to laugh too hard. “Yes, I’ve heard...stories.”</p>
<p>“Ominous.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You’re aware he and I share everything, right? So let’s talk about this being bent over a railing. I think we should take turns --”</p>
<p>“Fuck you, man!” Ben’s voice boomed in the background. There came the <em>whomp</em> of a pillow hitting the side of Armitage’s face and down he went. More shaking followed, I presumed Ben had tackled his friend to the carpet, and he returned to me red-faced and panting.</p>
<p>“We’re leaving now,” he said. “Text you later, boss?”</p>
<p>“You better.”</p>
<p>My home screen appeared and I tossed my phone aside and laughed for a solid three minutes. I missed the knock at my door, and Rose opened it with a curious expression.</p>
<p>“What is so damn funny?” She smiled along.</p>
<p>“Hang on, I gotta have a drink first.” I got up from the bed when my phone rang again. Couldn’t be Ben again so soon. The screen flashed up a 212 area code.</p>
<p>“Who’s calling from New York at this hour?” I asked.</p>
<p>“Spam.” Rose made a face. “I blocked two earlier today.”</p>
<p>I hit decline but didn’t relegate the number to oblivion just yet. I’d Google it later to make sure it wasn’t a legit number. I hadn’t applied for work in NYC, though, so in essence I was putting off the inevitable.</p>
<p>In the kitchen -- I walked there slowly for obvious reasons -- the same number rang. “Persistent little spammer,” I said. It occurred to me, too, this might be a reporter. In which case, I’d save them a third attempt.</p>
<p>I answered with a curt, “I am not giving out any statements at this time, thank you,” and waited.</p>
<p>A sultry voice responded. “Rey Walker, this is Phasma. It’s good to speak with you. Do you have a moment?”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Reader, I about pissed myself.</p>
<p><em>Phasma</em>, I mouthed to Rose, pointing at the phone.</p>
<p>“You sure?” she hissed. “Why’s she calling?”</p>
<p>I shrugged. Hell if I knew this person was the real thing. Somebody had actually called the school claiming to be my mother -- the one who died -- fishing for details about Ben. Anybody could call claiming to be a famous pop star absent from my playlists.</p>
<p>“Hello,” I said after I recovered. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’ve received a number of crank calls this week, so I have to approach this --”</p>
<p>“Oh, I understand, Ms. Walker. I assure you I am the real deal and I’m prepared to prove it. In a few seconds my personal assistant is going to ring from a different number for a video call, if you don’t mind answering.”</p>
<p>I shrugged again. Rose leaned close to listen in and her eyes widened. In for a penny. “Okay.”</p>
<p>“Phasma’s” line went dead, and a number with a different area code paged. She appeared moments later, smiling at me with blood red lips coated in glitter. She wore a pillbox hat in a matching shade, with a black net veil that came down over her eyes. It hid her short blonde hair but not her pert nose. She turned her head and I caught the gleam of a large teardrop ruby dangling from her ear.</p>
<p>Though I couldn’t see all of her, I guessed she’d overdressed for the call. I felt like a pauper in my threadbare tank and sweatpants. Who dresses like this for a video call?</p>
<p>“There you are,” she greeted me with an expression of scrutiny. I imagined she thought little of my naked face and night clothes, wondering what Ben Solo saw in such a scruffy little thing. “I’m afraid this call will be brief, but I wanted the opportunity to meet you. First off, congratulations on your Master’s degree.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.” <em>What do you want?</em> The question burned in the back of my throat. I refused to speak it on the chance her answer might be <em>Ben</em>.</p>
<p>“I’ll get right to the point. I’m meeting a companion for dinner at Joël Robuchon shortly,” she yammered on. “I’m scheduled to appear in <em>Vogue</em> next March. I’ll be part of their ‘rule breakers’ issue with a multi-page spread. Per my agreement with them, I have the first choice of photographer.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh dear glob.</em>
</p>
<p>My eyes flicked in Rose’s direction. She was giving me a frantic finger slashing across the throat gesture.</p>
<p>“I’d like for you to take the job,” she continued, “if you are available.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Even with the buildup, those words blew me away. “I am flattered you’ve thought of me, considering some things I’ve read.” Also curious as to how she got my number, but I decided to hold on that question.</p>
<p>“Oh, you mean that Instagram.” Phasma pouted. “What I wrote was totally taken out of context. I have a followup post scheduled to launch tomorrow morning which clarifies everything. I hope you haven’t taken it personally.”</p>
<p><em>Fuck you, lady</em>. “Oh, I’m fine. I must say, too, I’m a bit surprised. <em>Vogue</em> has an excellent relationship with Mara Jade.” I referenced the photographer who’d shot Phasma’s last album cover. I couldn’t name one track on it to save my life, but I followed the careers of those who captured the big names in action for the top publications and wires.</p>
<p>“Mara does sublime work, yes, but she has a specific style. I wish to go in a different direction with this particular shoot and, well,” she gave a tinkling little laugh, “what I envision is similar to what you did with Ben.”</p>
<p>Rose made a checkmark sign with her hand. I also figured she’d mention him eventually. I kept a poker face while on camera -- not a twitch. I’d never met Mara Jade, but like me she was a Hoth alumna and a former protegee of Ray One. My guess: Mara had seen or heard about Phasma’s crack about our <em>alma mater</em> and told Phasma to go yeet off a cliff.</p>
<p>“I see.” No pointing in thanking her, since she didn’t exactly say she liked my work. “In my experience, the subject gives much to the final product. I was lucky Ben Solo offered himself,” her brows offered a haughty reaction at that, “to the shoot.”</p>
<p>“Exactly. When he cleans up he can be quite photogenic,” Phasma said, her voice cagey. “One of his many talents.”</p>
<p>“Uh-huh.” How would this woman react if I mentioned the plug I was wearing in anticipation of receiving Ben’s “talent”? “May I ask what is the lead time on this project?”</p>
<p>Rose gaped at me, mouthing words so fast I read only a silent blur. I waved at her to calm down while Phasma talked, relieved this wasn’t a 360-degree view.</p>
<p>“You know, I’m not sure. The <em>Vogue</em> people will have all the particulars.” She looked away for a second. “Oh, I have to go now. Look, you don’t have to commit tonight, but please consider it? I’ve extended my Vegas residency through New Year’s Eve, so the shoot would take place here. I know you’ll have so many questions, but I’ll text you more details. Goodbye now!”</p>
<p>The end. Phasma rang off before I returned her farewell, which left me holding my phone and staring at my best friend.</p>
<p>“Well, that was surreal.”</p>
<p>“You should have hung up the second she offered you that job,” Rose said accusingly. “You know this has nothing to do with her admiring your skills.”</p>
<p>“If she’s that desperate to know how close I am to Ben why not come right out and ask?”</p>
<p>Rose shrugged. “Maybe she’s afraid of the truth. Surely she’s seen all the media covering it.”</p>
<p>I nodded, thinking of the video our so-called delivery woman spread online. In addition to what little she recorded of me answering the door, our amateur reporter had spent some time circling the car Ben drove here. Somehow she managed to trace it back to Armitage Hux, so now the world knew where Ben had slept the other night.</p>
<p>Phasma knew.</p>
<p>“You’re not seriously considering this?” Rose asked.</p>
<p>I shook my head. “At most the big magazines pay a few grand and no travel expenses. What I’d make from a shoot like this, it’s not worth it once I’ve paid for transportation and a hotel. I’d make less selling photos to Getty Images or the AP, but the work may be more consistent and the expenses lower. Besides, if I suspect correctly, this will conflict with Kay’s wedding and I’m not missing that.”</p>
<p>Rose seemed relieved to hear it. “I just hope we don’t run into her in Vegas. If she recognizes you, she might twist your arm.”</p>
<p>“To take her picture, or just for the hell of it?” The call would weigh on my mind all night, I knew. What was Phasma’s endgame here? Some kind of “keep your enemies closer” tactic? I hadn’t stolen Ben from her; the only possibility coming to mind was that Phasma believed if Ben was happy now, with another woman, it wasn’t permissible.</p>
<p>If she intended to get in between us, she’d have to find us.</p>
<p>Rose grabbed a soda from the fridge and turned on coverage of the convention. I settled in to watch with her, though politics easily put me to sleep. Cameras were likely to focus on the stage, so I didn’t expect to see Ben on TV.</p>
<p>I shifted for a comfortable pose. Eventually I’d have to remove this thing taking up space in my body, but Rose seemed happy I’d joined her. “Is this part of the new you?” I asked my friend. “I’ve never seen you show interest in the issues.”</p>
<p>“We’re going to cross-pollinate with some of these people. Wouldn’t hurt to at least appear like we know what they’re talking about.” Rose pointed at the screen. “There’s Ben.”</p>
<p>“Where?”</p>
<p>A camera panned the seats during a break between speakers as the two news anchors doing the show’s play by play bantered. High up in one of the skyboxes, Ben sat with his arms folded over the railing, taking in the spectacle of it all. He looked up momentarily as another man joined him.</p>
<p>“And there,” came a voiceover, “sit two men many hope will be our next First Gentleman and First Son respectively. Han and Ben Solo await the appearance of former President Ben Kenobi who is a last-minute schedule change for this evening.”</p>
<p>There followed an exchange between the anchors about President Kenobi’s recent endorsement of Leia Organa, how it impacted the atmosphere of the convention, blah blah blah. Rose appeared earnestly invested in tonight’s programming, but once the camera left Ben I was focused on my phone.</p>
<p>I let him know I’d seen him on television. <em>Wish you were here</em>, he replied. <em>We have snacks.</em></p>
<p><em>Jealous</em>. I added a goofy emoji, then, <em>How sturdy was that railing? I seem to remember you saying something before you were accosted.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>I’m happy to bend you over anything and take you from behind. You still wearing that plug?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Yes. Wish you were here instead.</em>
</p>
<p>“Look at that,” came the first lady anchor’s voice over the activity onscreen. “What do you suppose he’s reading that has him smiling like that?”</p>
<p>I looked up to see Ben back on television, gazing down at his phone with a wide grin.</p>
<p>“Well, Mr. Solo’s personal life has been a topic of national discussion of late,” answered her counterpart. “One might conclude he’s enjoying a conversation with a certain somebody.”</p>
<p>“It doesn’t look like he’s reading President Palpatine’s tweets.”</p>
<p>Rose nudged me with her foot. “Are you texting him now?” she cried.</p>
<p>“A little.”</p>
<p>“Send him a dirty pic. See how he reacts.”</p>
<p>“What? No!” Instead I warned Ben. <em>There are cameras on you right now. The anchors on the channel we’re watching are speculating.</em></p>
<p>I wasn’t sure how long the delay was between our activity and the live TV feed -- maybe a few seconds. Ben kept his head down and tapped quickly on his phone screen. <em>What channel?</em></p>
<p>I told him, and he confirmed that’s what they were watching inside their lounge. <em>Let’s give em something to talk about, then.</em></p>
<p>“Oh dear,” I said.</p>
<p>Rose looked at me.</p>
<p>“He’s going to do something.”</p>
<p>Rose turned up the volume. I silently willed the camera to switch to another scene. What was taking President Kenobi so long?</p>
<p>The anchors continued to gossip, as though forgetting the point of this broadcast. “It’s worth noting that pop star Phasma, who was once romantically linked to Ben Solo, is performing in a residency at one of the resorts here,” said the first anchor. “Rumors abound of a reconciliation between them.”</p>
<p>Rose snorted. “Who started <em>that</em> rumor?”</p>
<p>“Who do you think?” I watched Ben texting, but no bubbles percolated on my phone. Who else was he talking to?</p>
<p>“You think that’s Phasma on the other line? Making a late dinner date?” asked the second anchor.</p>
<p>"Bite your tongue," I told the TV. The plug felt harder inside me now. Maybe it was time for a bathroom break, but the text bubble appeared in my chat window so I stayed put.</p>
<p>
  <em>Watch this. Hopefully they’re still looking at us.</em>
</p>
<p>On TV, a young woman stepped out into the seats and handed Han Solo a plate with two doughnuts. Ben took the one on top -- it looked like something filled -- and held up his phone like he was taking a selfie.</p>
<p>“What’s this now?” said Anchor One. “Team Organa brought doughnuts and they’re not sharing?”</p>
<p>“Maybe we should head over there and introduce ourselves,” said Anchor Two, laughing.</p>
<p>“Yes, and...oh, what is he doing?”</p>
<p>“H-holy shit.” Rose barely contained her laughter as Ben first nibbled the pastry then burrowed his tongue deep, licking up a dollop of red jam. Hilarious and disturbing at the time, considering his mother might be watching this mock act of perversion on the flatscreen just feet away.</p>
<p>“Oh-kay,” said Anchor One, “how about we go back to the stage and see what’s happening?”</p>
<p>“Do we have to?” asked Anchor Two. This was banter on a major news network. Eventually, President Kenobi was announced and he strode onstage to riotous applause.</p>
<p><em>You can stop now</em>, I texted. <em>You chased the cameras off.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Too bad. They missed Dad smacking me upside the head.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Have fun putting a good spin on that. I have to pack.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I arranged a shuttle for you all when you get here. See you soon, boss.</em>
</p>
<p>Compelled as I was to hear our last decent president speak, the plug was starting to irritate me. I excused myself to my room to remove it, then checked the flurry of notifications on my phone. Somebody had tagged my Twitter handle and Ben’s on a reaction to his little stunt, and apparently the entire world saw fit to like, retweet, and/or comment.</p>
<p><em>I’ve never wanted to be a doughnut so badly in my life</em>, read the original post atop an animated GIF of Ben tongue-fucking the pastry.</p>
<p>Too funny. It almost got a reply.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Rey - Atta Girl</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Mr. Threepio is van-jacked.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Why are you squirming?” Holdo asked me, then her eyes widened. “Lord, you didn’t wear it on board, did you?”</p>
<p>“Wear what?” I thought a moment, and remembered the plug. “No! I didn’t even pack it.”</p>
<p>“Why not? You may need it later.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, like I’m going to walk through the security checkpoints wearing it.” Or carry it in a bag where TSA would recognize the unmistakable outline in the X-ray. Ha.</p>
<p>The four of us sat in the same row -- two by two, separated by the aisle -- on the flight to Dallas. Holdo had the window seat next to me, window shield down. Across from us, Rose reclined in a most uncomfortable position with a sleep mask over her eyes. Kay, at the other window, thumbed through a magazine.</p>
<p>Holdo adjusted her ear buds. “It’s silicone. It won’t set off alarms. It’s why I recommended you buy it; this is the perfect opportunity to get used to the sensation,” she said.</p>
<p>“And if nature calls and I must expel it, what then?” I asked. “I sure as hell won’t put it in my purse.”</p>
<p>“Fine. We can hit up the emporium I was telling you about. It’s a good idea to use plugs in different sizes to prep you for a specific girth, anyway. Since you haven’t mentioned how big --”</p>
<p>“Can we talk about something else?” People were still boarding. Every two seconds somebody’s hip brushed my arm and I had to lean against my friend to avoid a face full of carry-on luggage.</p>
<p>“Let’s go over the itinerary again,” I suggested. Everybody was aware of the VIP shuttle arranged for us, though Holdo seemed annoyed by what should have been viewed as a convenience. Gears turned underneath that brightly-colored mop of hair, a reminder to remain alert during this trip.</p>
<p>“Nothing’s changed.” She pulled up her phone to show me the list. “There’s the La Cage show tonight, and Cirque tomorrow night. I cancelled the spa trip since we took care of the waxing already; gives us more time at the pool.” She paused, then flashed me side-eye. “Oh. <em>That’s</em> why you’re squirming.”</p>
<p>Guilty. My first Brazilian felt weird. In addition to it, I had my legs done, so not one strand of hair existed below my navel. I felt slick and odd underneath my jeans, as though the fabric might slide down and pool at my feet.</p>
<p>What’s more, I thought about how much money the whole procedure cost, and that I very likely couldn’t turn back. First priority once we returned to Virginia was to find a job so I could afford the next wax.</p>
<p>Holdo leaned in. “You tell him about it yet?”</p>
<p>“No. It’s a surprise.”</p>
<p>“You realize once he knows you can’t let it all grow it back again. He won’t allow it.”</p>
<p>“<em>Him</em> allow it? It’s my you-know-what.” I looked around the airplane.</p>
<p>“So make him pay for next one,” she said.</p>
<p>“Maybe I will.”</p>
<p>“Atta girl.” Holdo went back to her phone and queued up her music. I set my phone to airplane mode, reclined a bit and closed my eyes. I let the hum of the plane’s engine during the canned safety speech and eventual takeoff lull me into a nap. For all the good it did; it wasn’t long before a sharp elbow jabbed me awake.</p>
<p>I glared Holdo down, but she appeared unconcerned as she handed me a cocktail napkin and a ballpoint pen. Scrawled across the top was her blockish handwriting.</p>
<p>
  <em>We’re being watched.</em>
</p>
<p>“What?” I began but my friend quickly shushed me. Silent again, she produced her phone to show me the feed of a Twitter user unknown to me, somebody using an anime drawing as an avatar. Holdo must have opted for the high-priced in-flight WiFi to be able to load this.</p>
<p><em>This is Rey Walker, isn’t it? Ben Solo’s new squeeze?</em> read the lead off tweet, which included a snapshot of me in my seat, taken from behind. Judging from the angle, it looked like the aspiring <em>paparazzo</em> sat behind Rose and Kay, or maybe a row behind that one. I began to turn my head but Holdo’s hand on my arm stopped me.</p>
<p>Instead, I tapped the screen to unfold the initial comments underneath, where several people presumed yes. The original tweeter’s next post: <em>She and her friend are going over plans to see Cirque. Looks like somebody’s hooking up in Lost Wages! #BenSoloNoMore</em></p>
<p>Posts with that hashtag numbered in the thousands, I saw the other night.</p>
<p>I scrolled a few posts to discover this person had transcribed more of our conversation to the delight of the social media world. Anybody reading this -- at least three thousand people, according to the current like count -- knew I had a bare kitty. And talked of buying an anal plug while out on the town.</p>
<p>After that, the comments turned x-rated, when people weren’t responding with that GIF of Ben and the jelly doughnut. Actually, it was hard to tell how many since graphics wouldn’t load completely. I scrolled until I hit bottom and the app wouldn’t refresh automatically. High-priced plane WiFi only gave so much, I discovered.</p>
<p><em>Now what?</em> I wrote underneath Holdo’s first message.</p>
<p>She grabbed the pen. <em>Want me to respond?</em></p>
<p>I thought of Holdo’s reply to Phasma’s Instagram post. Maybe if we weren’t in a metal tube in the sky sitting near the person bringing attention to my naked vag, I’d say yes. I shook my head and wrote, <em>And say what? Best to ignore it.</em></p>
<p>Yet as I put this thought to “paper,” watching the pen’s point tear into the fragile napkin, I wondered how soon Phasma or somebody connected to her spotted this thread, never mind Ben or his mother. The knowledge I was headed to Vegas opened the door to Phasma insisting I photograph her for <em>Vogue</em>, perhaps monopolizing my time and keeping me from Ben.</p>
<p>Of course, he wasn’t the prime reason I sat on this plane. Nobody knew that, yet.</p>
<p>I waved Holdo’s phone away, knowing I couldn’t stop my friend from sliding into the replies. So long as she didn’t become too foul or too personal, I left her to it.</p>
<p>I took out my phone and checked the in-flight WiFi options. It loaded like molasses, and after a few minutes I gave up. Holdo’s quiet cursing next to me indicated her own connection was floundering. I picked up the pen again and flipped the napkin.</p>
<p><em>Let’s leave it for now. We’ll do damage control during the layover.</em> We had an hour, enough time for concourse cinnamon buns and catty social media gossip.</p>
<p>I just hoped I could keep both down.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Typical of air travel -- for me, anyway -- delays extended our layover. Sweets and coffee in hand, we settled in chairs facing each other at our gate. All except Kay, who slumped on the floor at the nearest outlet to charge her phone. Since I didn’t get a good look at our Twitter spy, I didn’t bother inspecting the faces around us.</p>
<p>Nobody seemed interested in our little group, which led me to believe whoever posted that picture was connecting elsewhere. Their tweet, in the time after we discovered it, had exploded.</p>
<p>Holdo sat next to me. “I think you can report this,” she said. “It was taken without your permission.”</p>
<p>“What good is that? People will argue I’m a public figure now.” The best defense, I decided, was to live my life and enjoy it. I’d made a statement on Ben’s website and that’s all people needed to know right now. Well, except for maybe one thing.</p>
<p>I had my friend lean close for a selfie, which I then uploaded to my Twitter:</p>
<p><em>Girls’ trip to celebrate a dear friend’s final days as a single woman. Grateful to have this time with my best friends.</em> Send. No mention of where we were going or any side trips involving the tall son of a politician. As this post broadcast, I was spending time with friends.</p>
<p>Seconds later came the first like, and according to my notifications it was Ben’s handle.</p>
<p>Not long after that, a text. <em>Would you believe four doughnut chains have asked me to be their new spokesperson?</em></p>
<p>
  <em>They paying you in product? Tough choice if so.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It’s a pleasant distraction. The Internet is being judgy today.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I know. I’m ready to delete this Twitter app. So tempting.</em>
</p>
<p>A long pause, then, <em>Maybe Instagram too, while you’re at it.</em></p>
<p>Rather than ask why, I called up the app and noticed the tag notification. It led me to the post Phasma told me about the previous night. The photo depicted Phasma in a mirror selfie. I saw the outfit that went with the pillbox hat in full, a red bandage dress with thin shoulder straps that stopped just above the knees. Her phone obscured part of her face but not her mischievous smile. Next to the floor-length mirror bearing her reflection, set on a dark wood end table, was an arrangement of assorted white flowers and, next to that, a white bird.</p>
<p>My body flushed hot with anger as I read:</p>
<p><em>Consider this post my </em>mea culpa<em>, dear friends. In the heat of the moment, caught up in a frenzy of speculative media, I let down my guard and risked libelous behavior. My previous post (now deleted) is best left to the recesses of unattainable memory. This beautiful dove, on loan from Bib Fortuna’s highly recommended illusion show at Mos Eisley, must serve to extend a metaphorical olive branch to those I’ve offended. I acted hastily in my assumptions and my words, and along the way caused people hurt. It’s my intent not only to apologize to the good people of Hoth and to Rey Walker, but to extend an amazing opportunity that will showcase both. With recent praise heaped upon Ms Walker and her recent exhibit of Ben Solo’s portraits, it’s only natural that I’ve extended an invitation to her to photograph me for an upcoming magazine shoot. I look forward to seeing how she will immortalize my image.</em></p>
<p>The way Phasma talked, my working for her seemed like a done deal. Not only that, I realized I never told Ben about her calling me. I hadn’t thought about it, truthfully, because I saw it as an unnecessary irritant. Ben had enough going on to learn about a job offer I never intended to accept.</p>
<p>Funnily enough, Holdo’s was the first comment. <em>The Internet is forever, sweetheart. Good thing I screenshot that last post of yours.</em></p>
<p>I elbowed. “You are such a bitch.”</p>
<p>Holdo smiled, not looking at me. “You love me anyway.”</p>
<p>My phone shook in my hand. Ben’s next text read, <em>Did Phasma contact you directly?</em></p>
<p>I swallowed. No sense in lying. <em>After you left for the convention. We had a brief FaceTime.</em></p>
<p>Text bubbles percolated, then disappeared. After that, the vibration of a voice call.</p>
<p>Oh, sweet glob. <em>Here it comes.</em></p>
<p>To my relief, Ben wasn’t upset. He sounded worried at the start, which confused me. “So...when Phasma called she only wanted to talk about hiring you? There was no drift toward...other topics?”</p>
<p>“You mean, did we talk about you? No,” I said. “It was a brief, strange convo.” I recalled how she looked and the particulars of the job offer, to which I refused to commit. “After how she treated you, why would I? It’s not worth the hassle.”</p>
<p>“So she said nothing about the video?” Ben paused. “I suppose there’s no reason why she’d bother.”</p>
<p>“Unless she wanted to upset me or make me jealous,” I said. “She doesn’t know that I know, either.” It led me to wonder if Phasma was planning to keep the video in her back pocket. “Maybe she’s pacing herself.”</p>
<p>“Well, we can’t hide the fact that you’re coming to town. I have to be at the convention when you arrive so I won’t be able to meet you at the airport. A hotel concierge is going to see you to the shuttle and the rooms,” Ben said, and paused a moment. “If you ladies feel you want security, Chewie volunteered to be your shadow.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Lounging by the pool while a seven-foot-tall biker dude hovered close inspired more feelings of suffocation than security. “We’ll be fine, Ben. Today’s our hotel day. We have reservations for Kay’s bachelorette lunch on property, and tickets for the La Cage show tonight.”</p>
<p>“Cool. If you see a drag queen in a blonde bouffant named Maybelline, tell her I said hi.”</p>
<p>“And you can explain that later. They’re calling us to board.” Everybody at the gate rose in unison, which amused me since we had to line up by boarding sections. “I’ll text you when we land.”</p>
<p>“Set aside about ten minutes for me when we meet up? I got something to show you.”</p>
<p>“Just ten?” I heard him laugh, and promised him the time. I was last in line with my group as I rang off. With every step toward the gate my anxiety and paranoia grew. Every lingering look from a stranger, every lift of a phone in my direction, I wondered if somebody was tracking me.</p>
<p>My phone rang again. Phasma. <em>Not today, Satan.</em> I let the call go off to voicemail before resuming airplane mode. My nerves were on high alert and nearly launched me out of my shoes when a light tap landed twice on my shoulder.</p>
<p>“Excuse me?” asked an older, slightly stooped woman behind me.</p>
<p>Strung tighter than a tennis racket, I whirled around. “Hey, I planned this trip months ago, before I met Ben. It’s not just about a quick hookup, okay?”</p>
<p>The woman’s face radiated confusion as she held up a folded paper. “I-I believe you dropped your boarding pass.”</p>
<p>In front of me, Holdo leaned back to survey my embarrassment but said nothing. I let in a deep breath and exhaled with what I hoped was a pacifying smile. “Oh, thank you so much,” I said, softly now, before resuming the slow crawl toward the gate.</p>
<p>“We should order drinks on this flight,” I whispered to Holdo. She agreed.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>On this leg of the journey, I learned that if a flight attendant recognizes you from the Internet, they may favor you by bending the rules a tad. The woman in the dark blue slacks and matching vest pushing the beverage cart winked at me as she set down my cocktail napkin.</p>
<p>“Tell your boyfriend we’re all voting for Leia Organa here, the whole crew,” she said, and handed over a fistful of little trail mix packets. I paid for a tiny bottle of Jack to go with my Coke and got two in return. The friendly skies, indeed.</p>
<p>When we deplaned I practically floated to baggage claim. My camera bag was my carry-on, and I started taking random shots of our group watching the luggage glide past us.</p>
<p>“Save some memory for actual Vegas,” Rose admonished me. “Half of Kay’s wedding album shouldn’t have to be us standing here.”</p>
<p>“These are pics for the decoy album, the one Beau and his parents will see,” I explained. “Ours will be all the shots of strippers.”</p>
<p>“I know you’re tipsy so I’ll let that go,” Kay said, and grabbed her rolling duffel off the conveyor belt.</p>
<p>Around us, I heard voices that unsettled me. People asked random strangers if they’d originally flown out of Virginia. Turning, I spotted a man with a camera checking arrival cities on each carousel. Of course, celebrities flew into Vegas often, though as much as I hoped somebody more worthy of the attention had landed here I doubted it.</p>
<p>“Are we all set?” I asked my friends. “There’s a shuttle waiting.” We walked toward ground transportation like any pack of besties looking to get into trouble in the city.</p>
<p>A natty-looking gent in a dark suit held a sign with Holdo’s full name. Good call on Ben’s part to throw people off the scent. He introduced himself as Mr. Threepio and gestured us toward a small van. “Mr. Solo sends his regards as he is not able to meet your arrival. I am happy to escort you directly to your rooms, and of course if you require anything during your stay do not hesitate to ask.” To this effect he handed each of us a business card with gold embossed lettering.</p>
<p>“Hey, that’s awesome. Do you mind if we take a slight detour first?” Holdo asked. “Rey and I have some urgent business to attend to before we hit the pool, and Rose? You have your list?”</p>
<p>“Hm? Oh, yes. Kay, I’ll need your help with it.” Rose and Holdo apparently had some kind of code and plan to occupy Kay. After Holdo commandeered the driver’s attention, leaving poor Mr. Threepio to bluster in protest, we were off past Canto Bight and on the interstate.</p>
<p>“Ladies, I insist.” Threepio turned from his position in shotgun to regard us. He had the look of somebody who catered exclusively to refined high rollers flying into town, rather than rowdy celebrities and giddy girlfriends prepping for a bender. His forehead reddened with his frustration, and the look he shot in Holdo’s direction radiated a quiet scorn. “I gave my word to Mr. Solo to deliver you safely to the penthouse floor --”</p>
<p>“Ah just adore a penthouse view,” sang Holdo.</p>
<p>“Yes, well…” the little man stammered, and I reached out for the hand clutching the headrest.</p>
<p>“And you will get us there intact, I promise you.” I nodded toward the back where Rose was bluffing Kay about her so-called task. “Our friend Kay is getting married, and this is probably the last time the four of us will get to take a trip together for a while. The Solos were kind enough to accommodate us, but we want to make sure her trip is memorable.”</p>
<p>“Of course.” He nodded. “It’s my job to ensure our VIP guests enjoy their experience, and while I’m happy to recommend any number of dining and entertainment options, I do concede to our guests’ wishes.” After a beat, he added, "Of course, the majority of my recommendations are on property at Canto Bight..."</p>
<p>Holdo bounced in her seat. “That’s great. We won’t be but a few minutes. Right here’s good,” she added to the driver.</p>
<p>Our shuttle idled at the curb of a liquor store. Next to that stood my destination, a not-so-discreet romance boutique called Sensual Pleasures. Their window display featured a line of mannequins dressed in peepshow lingerie and leather wristlets and collars. We were all out the side doors in seconds, Rose leading Kay toward a candy store across the street, an obvious ploy to get her to thin we were stocking up on room drinks.</p>
<p>Holdo leaned back toward the open side door. "If you like, you can come with us. We might need a man's opinion on a few purchases."</p>
<p>Mr. Threepio cast a glance out at the shop windows and let out a strangled, “Oh, my. This is most irregular.”</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Ben - Wanna Bet?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Ben is propositioned, constantly.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I heard the crisp snap of a paper bag and looked up to see Jacen had snatched my lunch from the chair next to me.</p><p>“I’m not done with that,” I said.</p><p>He shrugged an apology. “Your mother said you’re not allowed near food where there’s cameras. Sorry.” And he walked back into the skybox, leaving me to sulk. Until I reunited with Rey and/or managed to find some privacy, food was my only comfort.</p><p>Not long after Jacen left, Lando came down and took the seat. He nodded toward the stage. “Congressman Antilles looks rather stiff, you think?”</p><p>I was only half-listening to the man’s speech. I felt bad for him, almost. He backed Ackbar. “When the crowd’s drifting in and out like they’re at some state fair, I guess it makes one nervous.”</p><p>“He’s young, but he has energy,” Landon conceded. “Four years from now he’ll have ‘em in the palm of his hand.”</p><p>“Assuming he’s still in office then.” I glanced over at Lando, who nodded.</p><p>“Speaking of being young and energetic, how come you’re here and not back at the hotel welcoming your lady to Vegas?” Lando gave me a look that implied he might be interested in seeing that. Of course, he seldom looked any other way -- always amused and ready for trouble.</p><p>“She and her friends are keeping to an itinerary. She didn’t exactly come just to see me.”</p><p>“You know what, that’s alright. It’s good that you don’t feel you have to be joined at the hip. You let each other breathe, like your parents.” He glanced back at the skybox. “That’s why they’ve stayed together for so long. They’re affectionate and they worry when they’re apart, but they’re adults and act like that. I can see you inherited that quality.”</p><p>“More like I learned it,” I said. If Phasma sat here, she’d probably regale Lando with tales of my overzealous attention. She’d be exaggerating, of course, but I’ll own those moments where I came off as possessive. “Anyway, Rey’s strong and independent, and I don’t want to change what attracted me to her.”</p><p>“She got a sister?”</p><p>I held up three fingers. “All from other misters.”</p><p>“Eh, they’d probably run me into the ground.” He slapped my knee as he stood. “I can’t listen to this guy anymore. Your uncle is going to blow them out of the water tonight anyway. I’ll see you then.”</p><p>“Sure.” I kept my eyes on Antilles as he wrapped up. There was no mistaking the wave of applause as he left, either. The delegates were clearly glad to see him go, hungry for somebody more appealing. It relieved me to know my mother had no plans to subject me to a similar torture.</p><p>And as though she’d read my thoughts, she appeared and took the seat Lando vacated. Despite logging in an estimated total of three hours sleep this week, I saw no signs of fatigue in her face. She lived for the thrill of the hunt, whether seeking reelection to the Senate or endorsing a colleague, and this...this was big game.</p><p>“Was it necessary to confiscate my lunch?” I asked her.</p><p>“It’s all for the greater good, Ben. Besides, right now your approval score is higher than mine, and you’re not old enough to run for President yet. Let’s stay focused.” She flashed her phone to show me that I still trended. “I hate to admit that last night’s stunt helped us, but why tempt fate? Even your father the gambler thinks you should dial the doughnut sex back.”</p><p>“I was only messing around. I’m still hungry.”</p><p>She held up a glass soda bottle and poured half the contents into a plastic red cup. “Split it with you,” she offered. When I reached for the bottle she pushed the cup on me. “It’s safer if I have this.”</p><p>“I’m not going to fellate it, Mother. I’m actually thirsty, and it tastes better from the bottle.”</p><p>“I know. That’s why I have it.” Her frown darkened her face somewhat, but her subsequent smile gave the expression a familiar mischief. She kept the bottle close to her but refrained from drinking. “When are you heading back to the hotel?”</p><p>“Soon.” Rey’s last text indicated they’d gotten to the rooms without any hassle, and would return after lunch to dress for the pool. They had reserved the second show at La Cage @ Canto. Maybelline the drag queen spy stood a better chance of seeing Rey more than me today, due to my responsibilities. I itched to get out of here.</p><p>“Ben, I was thinking,” Mother said, “I realize Rey and her friends had a bucket list for this trip, but if they have any interest in the convention we ought to invite them tomorrow night. In the event we get the nomination. It would be nice to have a fuller house to celebrate.”</p><p>I side-eyed her. “In the event? Mother, you’re not worried Ackbar will catch up?”</p><p>Just like that, the radiance faded a bit. It might have been the house lights brightening during the break between speakers, but more likely Ackbar’s name triggered this change.</p><p>“The numbers are close, Ben. Neither one of us has enough delegates to win. Something has to give soon, and Ackbar isn’t simply going to lie down.” She shook her head, looked at the bottle, and set it on the concrete step next to her. “Not for free, anyway.”</p><p><em>Aha.</em> “What’s the price to bail? Not the VP office, I hope.”</p><p>“A cabinet position. State, more than likely. Something to give him momentum the next time he decides to run.”</p><p>“Has he offered you a similar deal?”</p><p>Mother smiled. “I didn’t come this far not to win the nomination,” she said. “If I thought I wasn’t getting any further than a cabinet position, I’d stay a senator.”</p><p>“Have you even thought that far ahead?” I asked. Lando joked more than once about the Secretary of the Treasury position. That’s all I knew about Mother’s dream cabinet.</p><p>“I have a few ideas, son. I’m sure we can get him to bend,” she said. “So, you think Rey and her friends would come here?”</p><p>“Maybe if they weren’t invited in the name of public relations.”</p><p>Mother double-taked at me. “What do you mean by that?”</p><p>“I don’t know.” I turned back toward the skybox. Mother’s campaign manager, who had been looking our way, quickly ducked out of sight. “Given the whole country can’t seem to find something else besides my love life to interest them, maybe some of your advisors figured leveraging Rey’s presence in Vegas helps boost your candidacy.” I shook my head. “We’re not using her like that, or at all.”</p><p>“How dare you suggest that, Ben.” Mother became annoyed. “Artoo...Rey is a dear young lady and I’d be happy to make her acquaintance regardless of her relationship with you. I’m also capable of winning this nomination on my own merits. If you believe my staff is insinuating to anyone that the public will get a White House wedding if the party leans our way you’re mistaken.”</p><p>“Understood.” I sipped my Coke. “Forget I said anything.”</p><p>Mother calmed down after a few seconds, but the sudden frost between us lingered. My accusation had come out before I truly thought about the consequences of my words, but anything involved Rey and this election concerned me. If anyone at Organa 2020 had considered using her to boost Mother’s profile, surely somebody on Palpatine’s team was working her into something to put us in a negative light.</p><p>Not to sound possessive, but I wanted her separate from all of this. The sooner the election ended, the quicker I’d have my resume distributed worldwide. No more politics after this, but a nice job related to something more suited to my skills.</p><p>And Rey? We had time to figure that out. As I thought about her, I must have willed her to reach out. My phone chimed and I received word that lunch was over.</p><p>I kissed Mother on the cheek and apologized for being an ass -- whether or not I’d acted as such was irrelevant. You always apologize to your mother. “I’ll ask Rey, but it’s really up to her friend that’s getting married. It’s her trip,” I said and she conceded with a weak smile.</p><p>Through the skybox and out onto the concourse, Armie latched onto me. “You think you’re going to meet up with four single women by yourself?”</p><p>“They’re not all single. One’s getting married, one just ended a long-term relationship, and one is Rey.” We reached the stairs exit leading to the walkway back to Canto Bight. “You’ll be smart to keep your distance.”</p><p>“Your math seems off, Solo,” Armie said. “Sounds like two women are in play here.”</p><p>I thought back to my conversation with Rey’s friend Finn. He had the presence of a man unsure of his decisions, at least when it came to personal issues. Were it me, I’d feel upset to know my ex had made herself available to the first man she met in a strange town, and though it wasn’t my business I imagined Finn dreaded news of Rose hooking up with somebody mere days after calling it quits.</p><p>I’d been there before. I knew it wasn’t fun to contemplate. For all I knew, Phasma’s indiscretions overlapped the time we were together.</p><p>“You know,” I said. “That’s not for me to decide. These are grown women who don’t answer to me.” I watched my friend’s grin widen as our pace quickened. “Doesn’t mean you’re going to get lucky.”</p><p>“Wanna bet?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>A pack of delegates, tipsy and wobbling and too loud for the corridor, had spilled out of the hotel just as we reached the double doors. I endured their wolf whistles and good-natured cat calls, relieved to get an empty elevator on the first try. We had to switch cars somewhere on the fifteenth floor to get to the private one for our suites.</p><p>Back at base, a Secret Service agent stood guard at the elevator doors, which meant at least one more was likely further inside. Which meant we had more company.</p><p>I nudged Armie as we flashed our lanyards. “You have competition.”</p><p>We passed Chewie at his favorite spot in the galley kitchen. My godfather, former President Ben Kenobi, held court in the common area, surrounded by Rey and her friends. We’d caught them laughing at something he’d said, and judging by the way he gestured and nodded in my direction I guessed I starred in some capacity in the story he was telling.</p><p>All four friends had dressed for the weather but not necessarily for exploring. Pastel sundresses, bare legs, laced sandals and colorful pedicures. Each one of Rey’s friends appraised us quietly while Ben spoke, the expressions a morph of amusement and curiosity. The one with the hair to match her outfit, Holdo, seemed especially interested in my friend.</p><p>“Whatever he’s telling you about me is a bald-faced lie,” I announced, more to Rey than anyone else there. Her face was pink and radiant with her laughter.</p><p>“We were just trying to convince the president to join us at the pool,” Rey said. “And I never thought I’d ever say a sentence like that out loud.”</p><p>The formal introductions took about a minute, after which I asked present company to let me borrow Rey for a short time. I had her by the waist and two steps toward the door leading to the roof when the other Ben stood.</p><p>“Ladies, I appreciate your very tempting offer. I only wish I could accept it,” he said, offering the group a slight bow. “But there’s an old saying that when you come to the ball, you dance with the one who brings you. That would be Senator Organa, and I mustn’t be derelict in my duties.” He smoothed down the wrinkles on his white shirt and reached for the jacket draped over the sofa. Two hundred degrees in Vegas, and he hardly broke a sweat in that suit.</p><p>“Have any of you met young Ben’s mother?” he asked. Rey and Rose answered yes; the others sulked.</p><p>“You’ll have a chance. Many people think Mother is Wonder Woman, but she does come back to sleep,” I said. “In fact, she’s invited you all to the convention tomorrow. If you have time, we’ll get you passes, but you don’t have to decide now.”</p><p>The second I mentioned it, though, Rey’s friend Kay lit up. “Does that mean she’s got the nomination? That would be so cool to see live.” She turned to Holdo. “What do you think?”</p><p>“I think this trip is all about you, so it’s your call.”</p><p>I could tell, though, the idea of seeing the convention intrigued the others as well. Rey’s hand squeezed tighter around my waist, and her proximity left me wanting. “Like I said, think it over. She’d love to have you, and you wouldn’t have to stay the whole day.” When I attempted to excuse Rey and myself again, Ben stepped forward.</p><p>“Walk me out first, son?”</p><p><em>Here we go.</em> Everybody had something to say about my personal life, so why not let the former Commander in Chief get in his pound of flesh? The sooner I heard the lecture, the sooner I’d have my short window of opportunity with the one person in the suite I wanted to see.</p><p>Ben led me into the VIP elevator, stopping his Secret Service detail at the doors. “We’re not going anywhere,” he told him. “I just want a minute of his time.” The way the men nodded, I figured Ben had a guy guarding the shaft at the ground floor as well. He wasn’t getting away.</p><p>The doors touched and Ben set the car to stay put. “Your men are quite trusting to leave you alone like this,” I said.</p><p>“Ominous statement coming from you.” My godfather looked me right in the eye. “You know I could still take you with my foil, easily.” He held his hand up as though wielding his weapon and touching the tip to my heart. In that moment, he looked younger than his years despite his short white hair and the faded color of his eyes.</p><p>“Easily,” I echoed. “I haven’t kept up with it.”</p><p>“We’ll have to get you practicing again, then. Maybe when your uncle arrives we’ll discuss it.”</p><p>“Ben, you didn’t drag me in here to talk about fencing,” I said. The air thickened around us, and I sensed bad news coming. Ben’s mild laughter hardly put me at ease.</p><p>“I’m aware you’d much rather socialize with your other guests, so I’ll be brief. I want to offer you a job after the election, as my personal assistant.”</p><p><em>What?</em> “Ben, you have a personal assistant. She’s amazing. I know, because I tried to hire her for the campaign.”</p><p>“Don’t think I’ve forgotten that, either.” He wagged a finger at me. “I suppose neither of us were enough to keep her. She’s leaving to marry her soldier, and he has orders to Germany. For what I need, I can’t have a virtual relationship.”</p><p>“What do you need?”</p><p>“A collaborator, Ben,” he said. “Help with my memoir, and the subsequent speaking tour. And don’t suggest I ask Armitage instead. He’s a strong writer, but he gets starstruck. You and I…” he gestured between us, “we clash, yes, but that’s a good thing. You never sugarcoat the truth; if you think I’m acting like an old fool, you call me out and I appreciate it.”</p><p>I smiled. “I didn’t earlier when you were surrounded by all those women.”</p><p>He slapped my shoulder. “Give the offer some thought, will you? It would beat sifting through hundreds of resumes. Before you ask, your mother had nothing to do with this.”</p><p>“Thanks, Ben.” If he had said anything about looking to hire, Mother would’ve kept her mouth shut about me to him. “I will.”</p><p>“Best of all,” he nodded as the doors opened, “The commute from Richmond to the beach is closer than if you stay in D.C.”</p><p>“I hear no lies.” I shook his hand. “I’ll let you know.”</p><p>The agents took my place in the elevator and Ben bade us all goodbye. Armie had taken his place on the sofa in between two of Rey’s friends.</p><p>“How much time do I have left?” I asked, taking Rey’s hand.</p><p>“Ten minutes. Though if he keeps talking we might have longer...” Rey glanced in Kay’s direction. She, along with the others, were rapt by whatever stream of bull Armie was laying out for them. I tugged her toward the emergency exit in the corner, past the galley kitchen where Chewie offered us a quiet salute before we escaped.</p><p>The stairwell provided none of the charm of the gigantic suite, but the thick door separating us from everybody would block the noise. That proved advantageous when I pressed Rey against the bare concrete wall and kissed her. Sunscreen and champagne never tasted so good.</p><p>“Hey, boss.” I spanned her waist with my hands, sliding up slowly to take her breasts. She wore a halter style dress with straps that tied around her neck, leaving her back mostly exposed. It only took a gentle tug to undo the knotted bow and send the fabric spilling downward.</p><p>She whispered my name and it shot through my veins. When her hand found the zipper of my slacks my hard-on twitched. I thought for a moment we might not make it to the roof.</p><p>Rey pressed her cheek against my shirt, now reaching for the top buttons. “What if somebody comes in?”</p><p>Yeah, like I’d arrange this without a plan. “Chewie won’t let them,” I said just before I lifted her high enough to allow me to suck in her right nipple.</p><p>“Cool...so, we’re gonna mess around in an empty stairwell and let the echoes of our orgasms deafen us?”</p><p>I shook my head, moaning. She laughed and slapped me upside my head, and I came up for air.</p><p>“There’s a private lounge on the roof,” I told her, indicating the short flight of stairs. “This is the only access point. We can look out at Vegas.”</p><p>“Then why are we here? First to the top stays on top.”</p><p>With that, she wriggled out of my grasp and raced up to the roof, her halter still undone. The ache in my groin forced me to take the stairs at a slower pace, but I got there.</p><p>I pushed up on the last step through the door and into a cloudless sky. The roof lounge wasn’t fancy, but a comfortable spot with upscale patio loungers and loveseats situated on a large section of outdoor carpet. The seating surrounded an idiot-proof gas-powered fire pit, one everybody enjoyed on the first night despite the balmy temperatures. There wasn’t a bad seat in the area; from any vantage point one took in a nice panoramic view of the city and surrounding desert space.</p><p>Rey perched on the edge of a cushioned ottoman, top down and leaning back to soak up the sun. The sight of her bare breast quickened my pulse. “You mentioned a private pool a few days ago?” she asked.</p><p>“It’s not nearly as nice as the main one, it turns out. It’s more for lap swimming, and you don’t get as much sun.” I took the chair in front of her and redid my fly.</p><p>“Aw, why are you doing that?”</p><p>I was equally, if not more, disappointed in my actions. “Pressed for time as we are, I’m not fond of a rush job. Besides that, I don’t have protection. And I know,” I got in before Rey mentioned her implant, “but I’m not the gambler my dad is.”</p><p>“Oh-kay.” Rey drew out her frustration and sat up. “I suppose we can come up here when you’re done tonight.” She smoothed her hands down the skirt of her dress as she spoke, teasing a bit of leg when the fabric rustled with her movement.</p><p>“Where are you ladies planning to have dinner?” I asked.</p><p>“One of the restaurant hotels, I forget which one. We have reservations and we’re going to the show from there.” She canted her head. “The plan, of course, is to start drinking there and progress as the night passes. If I remember any of the show tonight it will be a small miracle.”</p><p>“Chewie said he’ll stand by if you need him.”</p><p>“Holdo thinks he’s cute.”</p><p>I winked. “He gets it from me. Seriously, though…”</p><p>“He gave us his mobile number, don’t worry. We’re not going for a record drunk or anything. This is Kay’s last chance to let it all out.” She twisted her lower lip, like recalling a bad memory. “Her fiance is nice, but he’s kind of a homebody. I don’t expect I’ll get to hang out with her as much in the future.”</p><p>“It happens. I just hope you all knock down and drag out in the safest manner possible.”</p><p>Rey leaned forward, pinning her elbows on her knees. “This small talk is so damn boring. Why do I get the impression you’re delaying the inevitable?”</p><p>“If I go back to the suites smelling freshly fucked, Armie will never let us hear the end of it,” I said. “He may not say anything in front of your friends, but I find my life is more pleasant without his constant commentary.”</p><p>“You’re a grown-ass man. Tell him to fuck off.”</p><p>Heh. “Stick around for a day. You’ll see.”</p><p>“I have those dissolving mouthwash strips in my purse.” She held up her thin-strapped clutch. “Plus something I got at the adult toy store.”</p><p><em>Hello.</em> Now I leaned forward. Rey pushed open the clasp with her thumbs and widened the hinges to show me the contents of her small bag. Among the necessities -- credit cards, keys, ID -- were the aforementioned oral strips, a travel size bottle of lube, and a shiny metal plug with a flared base designed to resemble a four-leaf clover. The green glass gems affixed to the base twinkled as I rolled the plug in my hand.</p><p>“Nice.” I eyeballed the body of the plug at about three inches long and an inch and a half at its widest point. Rey told me it was an upgrade from her first one.</p><p>"Holdo recommended it," she added. "She doesn't usually buy metal but she trusts the company."</p><p>“I’d love to use this on you,” I said.</p><p>“That’s why I bought it.” She reached for the plug. “I thought the design was appropriate for Vegas. We all could use a little luck.”</p><p>“Yes. Not the gift I’d give out to anybody on the campaign, though.”</p><p>Whether she did it on purpose or unconsciously, I didn’t know. As Rey took back the plug she dragged up part of her skirt with her arm, exposing her thigh all the way up to a very thin strip of white barely covering her pussy. Her skin looked too smooth and beautiful to not touch, and she didn’t seem to mind when I set my hand on her knee and slid forward, leaning in for another kiss.</p><p>Soon, I discovered what else was smooth.</p><p>I tucked my fingers underneath the fabric, spurred on by the way she gasped and twitched. “This is new,” I said, not upset.</p><p>“I thought you’d like it.”</p><p>My other hand found my belt and yanked. “Lie back, please?”</p><p>She gave a smirk, happy to get into the gambling spirit with me.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Ben & Rey - Up On The Roof</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Ben and Rey don't look out at the view.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is short; I wanted to have something to share this week. Thanks to those who shared comments. :-)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Rey</em>
</p><p>If ever I write my memoir, I’ll dedicate a chapter to this trip. Though I can’t predict the outcome of my affair with Ben, I know I’ll treasure this time until my last breath. I think, too, a detailed story of being eaten alive on the roof of the Canto Bight would make for a book excerpt too spicy for even <em>Cosmopolitan</em> to touch. I can’t imagine who’d play us in the movie version. </p><p>Of course, I’d wait for President Organa to complete her second term before shopping such a book to agents. Assuming I’d write one. Assuming I’d have the strength to move my fingers past the <em>ASDFJKL;</em> position just thinking about what Ben was doing to me right now.</p><p>He tortured me this time by simply resting his cheek against my thigh and skimming my pussy with his fingertips. His every heated exhale stung my skin. I lay back with my head a few inches past the edge of the ottoman and turned to observe the lights and video movement in the distance.</p><p>On top of all that, the unforgiving Nevada sun stood to burn a hole right through me. I’d left my sunscreen in my beach bag, and I desperately needed a refresher.</p><p>The way Ben took his time, it allowed my mind to wander still. Were there security cameras positioned up here? Did Vegas offer helicopter tours? Could somebody fly a drone to the roof? Who had their ears pressed to the door? It was four against Chewie downstairs -- the bodyguard surely wasn’t that strong to overpower them. Holdo wasn’t above biting people, either.</p><p>My skirt hid Ben. I bunched it up and pressed the fabric to my abdomen to see better. Ben’s eyes were closed and his lips parted slightly as he rubbed them all the way around but not hitting any hot spots.</p><p>“Five minutes left, Ben.”</p><p>“How many licks you think it’ll take?” he asked, then looked up at me. His eyes had turned a soulful dark that seared me more than the heat.</p><p>“I don’t know. Should I spot you?”</p><p>He slipped two fingers inside me, hooking them to rub me the right way. "I love that you're still wet with all this heat."</p><p>"Ben," I warned.</p><p>“When all this is over, I want to take you someplace. No people, no work, just long days so we can take our time.”</p><p>I hadn’t the heart to mention I was already on vacation; it did sound nice to really get away, though. If only my savings stretched that far out.</p><p>Ben said nothing more. He pulled out of me and covered my mound completely with his mouth, working me over the way somebody would devour ice cream from a cone. Two, three, four… and I added a joyful noise to the light show surrounding us.</p><p>After a few seconds of recovery, I rolled over and winced as the heat on the ottoman cushion met my bare front. Ben nixed that idea and sat back on one of the loungers, pants undone and holding his erection. “Three minutes?”</p><p>“Who cares? Let them wait.” I lifted my skirt and straddled his lap, and seated myself slowly on him. Sex in Vegas is definitely a sport meant for the indoors. Not to say I wasn’t enjoying this time alone with Ben, but the lack of breeze did me no favors when I was already short of breath.</p><p>“They ought to set up some kind of awning here,” I said, kissing him. “Umbrellas, something.”</p><p>Ben didn’t answer immediately. His head rolled back and he breathed through his mouth, the corners of which turned upward in a weak attempt at smiling every time I clamped down hard.</p><p>“It’s hot as hell, I’m sorry,” he said finally, “but I still don't want to be anywhere else.”</p><p>I leaned forward to kiss away the perspiration on his forehead. He slipped his hands under my skirt to grasp my bottom and move me in a harder, more forceful rhythm. The wicker base of the lounger groaned beneath our weight; I figured a few good thrusts might send us collapsing to the ground, but Ben wasn’t long in coming.</p><p>That, like everything else, felt searing hot. I rested against his chest -- his shirt partly undone, his heart racing -- and let my steady breathing help align us to a better level of calm. We were going to look like hell when we returned to our group, no point in hiding it, so at the very least I figured we shouldn’t come back gasping for air like two ill-prepared marathon runners.</p><p>“Maybe next time in the lap pool,” I suggested, “even if it’s not worth looking at.”</p><p>“I’ve never done it in a pool before. Or a hot tub.” He threaded his fingers through my loosened ponytail. “This was my first roof.”</p><p>The lub-dubbing under his sternum began to slow a bit. “Good, let’s get a list going then. Swimming pool, hot tub, where else? The Mos Eisley has a Ferris wheel…” I could see it from here, in fact. Pod-shaped gondolas dotted the upper curve of the slowly moving ride. It then occurred to me that anyone riding the damn thing might be able to see us once they reached the highest point.</p><p>I straightened and oh-so-graciously lifted the bodice of my sundress back over my breasts and tied the bow behind my neck. Ben put two and two together when he followed my gaze to the other casino.</p><p>“Oh, wow,” he said, sounding not too concerned. “You think anybody saw us from there?”</p><p>“Probably. With this heat, though, maybe we were just a colorful, squiggly mirage.”</p><p>“I say we skip the Ferris wheel. It’s not like you can leave it anytime you want.” Ben helped me to stand before tucking himself back into place. I offered him the mouthwash strips but he declined, saying it would only confirm what everybody was likely assuming what went down here.</p><p>If anybody suspected our rooftop shenanigans, we received no knowing glances upon our return. Ben’s friend Armitage had my crew spellbound at his setup on the dining table. They hovered close while a video of Senator Organa played onscreen, impressed by how quickly the clip hit one million views.</p><p>Kay caught sight of us and waved me over. “Isn’t this cool? Rey, maybe we should go tomorrow. You could bring your camera.”</p><p>“Would I be allowed to take photos?” I turned to ask Ben, but he had slipped into the galley kitchen behind Chewie. He was downing the contents of a soda can and handed me the other one. Clever way to disguise his recent “activity.”</p><p>Armitage closed the laptop and leaned back in his chair. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Oh.” His phone vibrated on the table and he checked the alert. “You’re all set, too.”</p><p>I noticed none of my friends had changed for the pool, but Rose held up my bag, which bulged thicker than usual. “Armie got us a cabana. We can change down there. Free drinks poolside!”</p><p>Nice. That was one theme for the trip. I handed Ben back the can. “Won’t be needing this then,” I told him before being swept up in the rolling wave toward the elevator. “Guess we’ll be back...whenever.”</p><p>“Y’all got keycards, right?” he called back. Each of us lifted a purse or bag to indicate yes. He saluted and added, “If you get lost coming back, text. Somebody will find you.”</p><p>He meant it as a joke, surely. As I glanced in Chewie’s direction, though, I saw the seriousness of the man’s eyes peering over his dark glasses. It felt like he was sending a telepathic warning. <em>Don’t make me worry.</em></p><p>“We’ll be fine,” I said, more to him than Ben.</p><p>The elevator doors closed on the man’s slight smile.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em>Ben</em>
</p><p>With Rey and her crew gone, I padded back to my room and into the <em>ensuite</em> bath, stripping as I went. I stepped into the shower, then cranked on the cold spray.</p><p>Armie appeared after a few minutes, a pale pixelation through the shower door’s frosted glass. “So,” he shouted over the rush of water, “what’s it like making love on the surface of the sun?”</p><p>“You mean you don’t know?”</p><p>“Chewie blocked the door. He must really like you.”</p><p>“I meant, I figured you’d have lured a housekeeper up there while we weren’t looking,” I called back.</p><p>“When do I have time? This is the longest break I’ve had yet. Do I have to go back?” He sounded annoyed. “Shit, now what?” he added when his phone went off. I tuned him out as he spoke, which turned out not to be very long.</p><p>He banged on the glass. “Ben, I can’t wait for you. Something’s come up.”</p><p>“What?” I cut off the water. “Hang on and I’ll get dressed.”</p><p>“It’s nothing bad, I don’t think.” His voice faded with his distance. “Just get there when you can.”</p><p>“Armie, what is it?” No response. I wrapped a towel around my waist and dripped a trail into the common area. He and Chewie were gone.</p><p><em>Shit.</em> I hated mysteries, especially when they concerned the job. At least Chewie eased my mind with the note he left behind saying he intended to canvas the downstairs, check on the pool area.</p><p>Back in my room, I pondered over clean clothes while recalling everything I needed to accomplish before Uncle Luke arrived. Hopefully he was already at the venue, and Armie being summoned back meant he had issues with the speech to iron out. If so, it didn’t really affect my job of making sure he got to the stage in time to talk.</p><p>Though Rey wasn't here, it didn't mean I was anxious to get back to work. Part of me hoped she might reappear under the pretense of forgetting something -- sunglasses, sunscreen, who the hell cared? I'd drag her back into the shower with me to cool down, before turning up the heat again.</p><p>“Whoa.” A wave of dizziness rushed through my head when I bent over to dress. I felt a fatigue typically experienced when I skipped meals and/or water, yet it hadn’t been that long since Jacen confiscated my lunch. Maybe my time in the sun with Rey, rather the sun-surface sex, sapped my energy.</p><p>I flopped down on the bed, having managed only to put on my briefs. A few minutes to rest up, I decided, and I’d be okay.</p><p>I hoped.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Ben: Merely A Player</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Ben makes his stage debut.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I blinked, closed my eyes, and two seconds later the text pings sounded through the room like video game bullets. Only this didn’t happen after two seconds but four hours.</p><p>Four fucking hours, I slept. In the daytime...actually, day darkening into night, but Vegas never shuts off. How could I possibly sleep here?</p><p>And in this lengthened time, somebody had moved my body. I bolted upright in bed, surprised to find myself partially under the covers. I had to have been in a short coma not to have sensed anything.</p><p>Mother’s text asked me to call when I woke; Rey's wanted to know if I was feeling better. I answered her first, wondering how long it was into my unconsciousness when she returned from the pool. A perfumed scent, something floral and sugary, lingered in the air. It wasn’t something I associated with Rey...maybe one of the others.</p><p>
  <em>When were you here? What happened?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We came back to change for dinner and you were gone to the world. I was worried but Chewie shooed us off. He seemed to know what to do. I'm relieved you're not sick.</em>
</p><p>Unbidden, the image of Chewie caring for my father in a similar situation came to mind. Back in the day, he'd celebrated a championship with a bender that required more than a day for recovery. </p><p><em>Just so you’re aware, your virtue was left intact and no pictures were taken</em>, she added as though sensing my thoughts. Thank fuck for that. What free boat drinks at the hotel pool might have inspired four women looking for mischief and finding me with my pants off, out like a light?</p><p>“Chewie took care of you,” Mother confirmed when we connected. “Don’t feel bad for crashing like you did. It was bound to happen since you’ve been up all night.”</p><p>I rubbed my forehead. “This is a first for me. I've done all nighters before without feeling like I got body-slammed.”</p><p>“You’re fine. You didn’t miss much, and I had a lovely conversation with Rey on your phone --”</p><p>“Oh, nice.” I got up and checked the first mirror in my path to make sure nobody had drawn mustaches or cuss words on my face with an indelible marker. "She said Chewie ran her off."</p><p>“I talked with Chewie about that, everything was handled politely. He didn't want any of them to worry, since you didn't appear to be in any danger. He figured you were better off asleep."</p><p>“Thank you, Dr. Chewie.”</p><p>“Ben, you were breathing and reacting to all the people poking and prodding you. Your body simply prioritized your health. I trust that man to make decisions in my absence, and as we are talking now it's clear that you will live.”</p><p>I dressed as Mother spoke. She wasn’t wrong. Chewie’s sixth sense had helped the family with everything but winning lottery numbers. I suspected he kept those to himself.</p><p>Stepping out my room to check for signs of life, my foot caught a thin gold chain. The clasp of the tennis bracelet had separated from its jump ring. I checked the carpet for any glints of silver or gold to indicate missing charms but my vision began to blur the longer I stared. Rather than invade the space set aside for Rey and her friends, I pocketed the jewelry.</p><p>This and the fading perfume aside, I sensed no other evidence that anybody had come back during my lengthy nap. I was alone again, which meant they all had gone to dinner and Chewie probably had followed, satisfied I wouldn’t scandalize the campaign with an untimely death in my underwear.</p><p>“Anyway,” Mother was saying, “I’m glad to hear they will be joining us tomorrow. It will be good to have more people filling out the stage.”</p><p>I liked hearing that, as much for Mother’s confidence that she’d be on stage tomorrow to accept the nomination.</p><p>“But if you’re feeling better, how soon do you think you’ll be here?”</p><p>I backed up into my room, buttoning my shirt with one hand. “Just give me a minute to run a brush through my hair.” Over my teeth, too. “Tell Uncle Luke I won’t be late.”</p><p>“Of course.” Mother rang off without saying goodbye. Not her style, but knowing my uncle he probably had her distracted within seconds of arrival.</p><p>Once I cleaned up proper, I high-tailed it back to the convention. Knowing Rey and her friends intended to stay on hotel property comforted me, despite the possibility of her running into Phasma. As she had a show tonight it seemed unlikely, but if she had spies around the resort there was no telling what she might do if somebody recognized Rey and reported to her.</p><p>Chewie volunteering to hang back for a while made things better in my mind. Mom would want him close, however, despite the inevitable presence of Secret Service. He brought a sense of calm with him everywhere he went, and with Organa 2020 on the cusp of winning the nomination we needed all the good mojo in our corner.</p><p>I entered our skybox to every head in the space swiveling in my direction. Voices cut into silence, eyes either cast downward or widened with a mix of anticipation and fright. The last time I walked into a scene like this, the grown-ups were trying to explain to me that my mother’s birth father, a man I never met, had died.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” This reaction seemed too serious to be linked to anything between me and Rey. I felt nothing from my earlier call with Mother; the enthusiasm faded.</p><p>“We just got word, kid,” said Dad. “Ackbar’s agreed to concede.”</p><p>“That’s great!” Why didn’t it appear so, though? Everybody here looked awkward and hesitant when there should be champagne all around. Leia Organa was one step closer to winning the White House.</p><p>As I spoke, I performed a mental headcount and realized somebody was missing.</p><p>“Uncle Luke should be here,” I said. I was to escort him to the stage. A slow, creeping dread took hold of my throat and slithered down to my heart.</p><p>Mom stepped forward. “He’s fine, Ben. There was an accident at his studio. Not a serious injury, but it’s enough to keep him from coming.”</p><p>“Then it’s serious.” My Uncle Luke wasn’t one to let nicks and scrapes waylay him. One year while sawing firewood he badly cut his hand. Power saw nearly cut it off, but he still made it to D.C. for Thanksgiving.</p><p>“Not really. If anything, it’s a precaution,” she said. “Of course, if I know my brother, he’s plotting an escape from the hospital as we sp--”</p><p>“Hospital?” How badly could one be injured while fencing? “What’s going on?”</p><p>Dad took the lead and came over to steer me toward the bar. Armie followed close. The heads turned back to converse among themselves. “It’s going to be fine, son. Luke took a bad spill during class, hit his head. His students took him to the ER, and some over-concerned doctor insisted he stay for observation. My thinking, it’s nothing.”</p><p>“A concussion is not nothing, Dad.” I opened the fridge for a soda. This conversation parched me, as would anything relevant to this damn convention. All the glass bottled Cokes were gone save for an opened one missing half its contents. Mother must not have touched her share, and here she left it to go flat. What a waste.</p><p>I settled for a can of the same and popped it open. “Is somebody pinch-hitting for him?” I asked of Uncle Luke. His appearance mattered more now, given his sister had the party’s ticket.</p><p>“We have somebody in mind.”</p><p>I glanced at our merry little group and saw nobody new. “Well, it can’t be Maz since we’re saving her for last.” Senator Mon Mothma had backed Ackbar, and probably wouldn’t hop fences just yet. “Who else is there but…”</p><p>Armie cleared his throat and held up a manila folder, eyeing me with some pity.</p><p>“No,” I said.</p><p>“Son, just hear us out.”</p><p>My heart beat fast enough to launch out of me. A naked coma in a Vegas hotel room sounded very good right now. “I am not getting on that stage, Dad. Why can’t you do it? Or Ben?” I gestured to the far side of the room where Ben chatted with Lando.</p><p>“Son, you know this isn’t my crowd. I do better with the race fans and the old folks at supermarkets. This is a different ballgame. Besides,” he added as he reached for a can himself, “I don’t want to, and your godfather had his turn.”</p><p>“You’re really the only one left, Ben,” Armie said. “You don’t have to worry, though. I’ve retooled Luke’s speech to suit you.”</p><p>I wasn’t listening. “This isn’t your crowd? You know how many delegates did double-takes as we walked the concourses?” I asked Dad. “You’re as much on their minds as Mom is.”</p><p>“You sure they weren’t looking at you?” He winked.</p><p>I looked at Mother, who approached us. “Is this because I accused you of using Rey for PR?”</p><p>“It’s because people are interested in you,” she said, “and this is your chance to show America you are an intelligent person with thoughts and ideas. That there’s more to you than nude photos and viral memes.”</p><p>“I hope you’re not denigrating Rey’s work with that logic.” Not only that, what were people thinking of me before those photos to inspire that statement?</p><p>“You know what I mean, Ben.” Her pointed expression sent a clear message: <em>You are essential to this campaign</em>.</p><p>No way out, either, except through the door to the tiered seats and over the railing. I let out a deep breath and took the speech from Armie. “How long do I have to go over this?”</p><p>“Twenty minutes. Jacen and I will walk you down.” Armie moved in but Jaina wedged in between us.</p><p>“We have to get your picture up. I didn’t make a social card for you before because...this is all new.” She scrolled through her phone gallery. “Is there a specific shot you prefer?”</p><p>“Just make sure it’s a picture where he’s clothed,” Dad said. I cringed. He probably didn’t know Jaina had at least one of Rey’s photos saved on her phone. I wasn’t supposed to know, but Dad’s remark obviously triggered Jaina’s embarrassment. Her face reddened and she pressed her phone to her chest, hiding the screen. Hiding much more than that.</p><p>“Jaina, go ahead and use the headshot from my LinkedIn. It’s not the most recent photo, but it looks professional enough for this. Also,” I added, “if you like you can come with us. It would help to have more familiar faces within sight.”</p><p>“Y-yes, of course,” she said, and stumbled toward the long table for one of the iPads.</p><p>Armie stood so close he might have passed through me. “What are you doing?” he whispered.</p><p>“Thanks to my Uncle Luke, giving a speech in front of the free world,” I muttered.</p><p>“I meant that girl over there who’s about to float out of the skybox like you just asked her to the prom.”</p><p>“You tell me exactly what I did to lead her on, since you’re more invested in this drama than I am.” Sensing my voice rising, I grabbed Armie and we moved toward the glass partition overlooking the stage. “Does my face change? Do my eyes smolder with lust when I look at her?” I made a show of looking down my pants. “Am I sporting a hard on?”</p><p>“What is wrong with you?” he demanded.</p><p>I glanced around the room. Nobody paid attention to the two of us. People had paired off into intense conversations of their own. They hovered over the food or near laptops, strategizing and speculating. The fact that I’d be speaking following Mother’s securing the nomination lightened the atmosphere; I guessed I was the only one feeling weighed down.</p><p>“I don’t want to give a speech, Armie,” I told him. “I don’t want to deal with an interfering ex-girlfriend. I don’t want to crush some young woman’s heart because of her infatuation with me, and I don’t want to have to swat your hands away from Rey’s friends. But I’ll do all those things because I don’t have a choice.”</p><p>I waited for a snarky comeback, but instead Armie moved to block me from the crowd. His head bent and arms folded, he nodded in what I discerned was sympathy. “What do you want, Ben?”</p><p>“I want to find Rey and take her somewhere out of the Strip. Find a taco truck parked in a deserted sandy lot, sit at a picnic table and unwind. Talk about everything and nothing. Not think about this election, this job…” I wanted the world to not exist for at least one day, get back to that mindset from the Canto Bight rooftop, with less sun. Nobody to bother us.</p><p>“Okay, so here’s what you do,” Armie drew his arm around me and pulled me close. He walked me toward the exit; Jacen and Jaina were long gone. “You focus on that while you talk. Keep saying to yourself there are no cameras, no giddy fangirls screeching about you on Twitter, no delegates. It’s you, a podium, the speech. And the sooner you finish the sooner you’re in that parking lot with your girl.”</p><p>He looked me in the eye. “You can do this, Ben. It’s a speech, not a firing squad.”</p><p>“What if I die of fright anyway?”</p><p>Armie grinned. “I’ll look after Rey for you.”</p><p>***</p><p>It’s a very different world on stage. It helped to have the lights on me, because the glare blacked out the arena. I detected movement in the seats, but no faces. No expressions of delight or disgust, no judgement. Just one shadowed entity rippling in the distance and shouting my name in a myriad of voices.</p><p>In the wings, Armie held up an iPad with the camera app turned to selfie mode. I used it as a mirror to check my teeth and hair. He advised me that Jacen and Jaina were down in front and prepared to live tweet and film my convention debut.</p><p>“Take it slow,” he advised. “I mean, don’t talk slow but break everything down in parts. If you can walk to the podium without tripping, that’s your first goal.”</p><p>“You should be a life coach,” I muttered. I glanced at the large screen backing the stage. My picture loomed large, like something you’d see behind a dictator as he raises his arms in victory. Once I started talking, it would change to a live feed. At least I didn’t have to look at myself.</p><p>“Look at that,” I said to Armie. “It just shows my name.”</p><p>“That’s the idea.”</p><p>“You know what I mean.” I pinched the bridge of my nose for a second. “Ben’s card listed him as ‘Former President of the United States.’ Uncle Luke’s read, ‘Olympic Medalist.’ Mine’s blank. It’s basically telling the world I’ve done nothing with my life.”</p><p>"You want it should say 'Ben Solo: Centerfold'?"</p><p>"It's better than nothing."</p><p>“You need to stop with this self-pity, Ben.” Armie brushed the lint from my jacket shoulders. “Next to me, you’re the hardest working man on this campaign. How’s the earpiece?”</p><p>“It’s fine.” I tapped a spot under my right ear. It wasn’t mandatory to have one, but Mother found it helped her during public appearances to have an unseen guardian angel let her know when she was slouching or looking otherwise ghoulish. For this exercise, Armie would be on the other end talking me down from the proverbial bell tower through an app on his phone.</p><p>My name was announced, and I took a deep breath. The overhead kliegs swung toward our side of the stage as I strode toward the podium. It amazed me how my mother withstood the combined assault of light and sound without wanting to detox in a bottle of wine every night. Another person might find this exhilarating; I felt content to let a quiet mantra fuel me.</p><p><em>Get this over with, get back to Rey.</em> Over and over.</p><p>“Thank you. Please.” I waved and cajoled the crowd down to a manageable volume before beginning. The printout Armie had given me used a large font, which relieved me since I wouldn’t be squinting throughout this ordeal.</p><p>“This convention has seen quite a few sharp turns, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I am standing here instead of my uncle, who was scheduled for tonight. My enthusiasm for Leia Organa as your next President of the United States is as potent than his, however, and were my Uncle Luke here to address you, he would likely say --”</p><p>“TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS!” shrieked somebody in the peanut gallery. The arena exploded in cacophonous jeers and whistles.</p><p>“Sorry, mate. I didn’t prepare for that,” Armie buzzed in my ear. I could only shrug since communication was one-way. That was the most emotion I allowed myself to expose in this moment. I knew to expect some noise while making this speech, and I suppose this level of heckling came with the territory.</p><p>As it stood, I had the choice of smiling it away and pressing on, or attempting a riposte. Armie worked better at off the cuff remarks, though, and anything I said here might prove disastrous for PR.</p><p>I took a deep breath and plunged. “I don’t think he’d say that, no. I believe you want the revue at the Mos Eisley down the street,” I said. Applause and cheers.</p><p>“Nice,” Armie said through the earpiece. I swanned back into the speech with, “My Uncle Luke would tell you that there is no one person right now better qualified to guide this country into prosperity and peace. Indeed, my mother Leia Organa has dedicated her life to equity in education and --”</p><p>“I LOVE YOU, BEN!”</p><p>That sounded like a second person. Rather than wait for the inevitable wave of copycats, I veered with, “Thank you. My mother loves me, too, and she loves all of you. And she would be honored to be your next President.” The audience loved that, judging by the rise in volume. Because of that, I barely heard Armie’s next words.</p><p>“Ben, you might want to cut this short. There’s some activity down in the front rows.”</p><p>“What?” I spoke that into the mic, looking in Armie’s direction. Despite the distance I noticed the worry in his expression. He gestured with his hands to “wrap it up” and said, “Last three paragraphs, skip down to there. It will make sense, trust me.”</p><p>I flipped to the second sheet, searching for the next words to recite. “If you will indulge me for a second,” I ad-libbed to stall, but a noise from the lip of the stage caught my attention. I lost my place in the speech, watching a woman in a bright pantsuit clawing her way up. People surrounded her, grabbing at her legs, but she kicked everybody away in order to right herself.</p><p>She stood several feet away, showing a glazed smile lined in red lipstick, the bun in her hair fallen and dangling to one side. “I love you!” she shrieked again, and no doubt she meant it. It was a scarily affectionate gesture that had me stepping backward toward the wings.</p><p>“Thank you,” I said, slow and calm. “I do appreciate that, and I would like to say, in conclusion, that --”</p><p>My fan trembled in place, vibrating either toward a dead faint or a loud explosion. I saw it could go either way, and I figured if I stayed the course and finished the abridged speech I’d be in a safer place. I wondered why, too, no security had come forward on stage or gathered on the floor near her.</p><p>I read the words Armie had written, not really hearing them in my head. My voice slurred in my haste, and the crowd must have sensed my unease as the seating area quieted. Somebody shouted for the woman to come down or move away, but she stayed fixed on me like she was about to pounce.</p><p>“Phasma doesn’t deserve you, Ben!” she called to me. “She was never good to you! Please don’t go back to her!”</p><p>“It’s okay.” I held up my hands, conciliatory. I looked for any hints of a weapon bulging out of pockets or her waistband, but whoever managed the lights had pointed everything they had on me and the stage crasher, and the extra wattage hurt.</p><p>When she did make her move, I wasn’t expecting a second person to leap upward and grasp for ankles. Jaina possessed one hell of a spring. She moved like a gymnast vaulting onto the stage. That’s when people really began to freak.</p><p>I remained behind the podium, frozen and overcome by helplessness. This unknown woman -- a delegate, press, somebody who wandered in from the heat -- was on the floor struggling to free herself from Jaina and now one other person. She screamed for me to come closer, begging for help. In any other situation I’d have gone over to assist, but Armie’s commands blowing up in my head kept me in place.</p><p>“Don’t move, Ben! You don’t know if she managed to smuggle in a gun.”</p><p>All the more reason for me to help Jaina. I moved a few steps closer, and realized my help wasn’t required. By the time security bothered to show, Jaina had one knee on the woman’s back and both of her wrists secured. The nearest guard closed the deal by applying handcuffs and dragging the woman offstage. Her declarations of undying love for me echoed in my ears.</p><p>A convention organizer commandeered the podium to quiet down the crowd. I ignored the pleas to return to seats and focused on helping Jaina to her feet. While postponements of the closing events were announced, I guided her over to Armie, who now stood next to my father.</p><p>“What the hell was all that?” Dad cried.</p><p>“If I knew, I’d tell you. I sure as hell didn’t plan it.” I waved at a volunteer to bring a folding chair and bade Jaina to sit. She’d clung to my side for the walk here, and it took a minute to extract her fingers from my side.</p><p>“Jaina, I can’t thank you enough, but it’s not in your job description to risk your life like that,” I told her, gently so as not to further upset her. “Are you okay? Did that woman hurt you?”</p><p>Jaina shook her head. Her whole body trembled and she hugged herself -- arms crossed over her chest and grasping her shoulders. “She was standing next to me and Jacen,” she said. “She had this wild look on her face. I figured she’d just freak out, but I didn’t expect her to…”</p><p>“Where <em>is</em> Jacen?” Dad demanded. “That kid was varsity. He knows how to tackle.”</p><p>My father, the feminist. I said nothing. No need, since Armie was fielding that question.</p><p>“He texted me. He’s with the police on the other side of the stage, giving a statement. Says they’ll want to talk to you and Jaina as well.”</p><p>Jaina stood and brushed the wrinkles from her blouse. “I hope they hauled her away. You probably didn’t see it from here, but she was scary.”</p><p>“I’ll walk you over.”</p><p>"The hell you will," Dad said. "Somebody tried to attack you, son. You're not going anywhere without security."</p><p>"We're all on high alert here, Dad. I doubt it will happen twice." I then told Dad to let Mother know I was okay. I put a hand on Jaina’s shoulder and returned Armie’s raised eyebrow with two of my own. Crush or no crush, the young woman was distraught and I felt she shouldn’t try to negotiate the frantic energy of backstage alone. I left him with my father, who was trying to get somebody through his phone.</p><p>“Jaina, I want to thank you for what you did,” I said once out of their earshot. She’d moved close to me again, rammed against my side but not wrapped around me like earlier. Her breathing settled down and she nodded as I spoke to her.</p><p>“I gotta know, too,” I added, hoping to lighten the mood, “how you learned to take down somebody like that. You ought to be part of Mother's security team.”</p><p>“Self-defense classes,” she said, her voice even and short. “One of many skills that proved useful in my previous job.”</p><p>“Really?” Interesting to know a graphic designer increased her chances of finding work by kicking ass. “Were you a bouncer in your previous life?” I joked.</p><p>Jaina wasn’t laughing. We were nearing a cluster of officers and guards and assorted staff. Heads bent over notepads, people gave testimony. I saw Jacen speaking with one uniform, but my would-be assassin was nowhere in sight.</p><p>“They probably took her to jail, Jaina. You’ll be fine.”</p><p>“No, I won’t.” Her voice cracked. “I did a bad thing.”</p><p>“If you think you’ll be charged with assault, we’ll--”</p><p>She stopped short of our intended destination, causing me to skid forward a bit. “I’m so embarrassed to admit to this…”</p><p>Her face tilted up to meet mine. She looked so small now, like a young girl expecting to be grounded. Strands of her long blonde hair fell into her glassy eyes, adding an extra layer of pathos to this moment. Her lip quivered, and I anticipated a confession that I needed to allay.</p><p>“Jaina, I know about the photo. It’s okay.”</p><p>Her skin paled. “What?!”</p><p>“It’s okay, really,” I tried to soothe her. “I guess I don’t blame you for having it, but I think it’s clear that I’m in a rela--”</p><p>“How could you know about that?” she cried. “Omigod.” Jaina tore away from me and clutched her arms. She refused to meet my face again and didn’t respond when I addressed her. Her behavior worried me; why lose composure over keeping one of Rey’s photos?</p><p>I suppose this awkward turn in our working relationship affected her more than it did me. I debated between reaching out once more or simply leaving Jaina to give her statement. Just as I lifted my hand, though, she whirled on me.</p><p>“Mr. Solo --”</p><p>“Ben.”</p><p>“Ben...you’re better off without her.”</p><p>“What? Why would you say that?” She barely knew Rey and I said as much.</p><p>Jaina gave a hollow laugh and stormed away, and I left it there. She’d obviously been through the wringer in the last hour, but her words were uncalled for. From the distance I saw her walk to the first officer who approached her.</p><p>Armie rang me. “They’re shutting down early. Everybody’s heading back to the suites. You want me to hang around?”</p><p>Another officer caught my eye and approached. “You go on. I’ll catch up when I’m finished here,” I said. “And look, if Rey should come back before I do, keep this quiet?” Last thing I wanted was for to get the idea she was responsible, even indirectly, for tonight’s adventure.</p><p>“Sure, but you know how word gets out. I doubt I’m able to shield her from it.”</p><p>“Yeah.” I rang off. Better if I relayed the story in my own words, but one glance at a news alert on her phone would clue her in, and likely deliver an exaggerated version of the truth.</p><p>By the time I gave my statement, Jacen had escorted Jaina toward the nearest exit. Before leaving she turned back to give a smile that nowhere near reached her eyes. I read mixed emotions on her face. Maybe she feared a more severe reprimand following her outburst, but I couldn’t fire her based upon her opinion of Rey. I supposed, too, I’d have to address that elephant in the room and gently break it to the young woman that I technically wasn’t available.</p><p>Even if I wasn't with Rey, it wasn’t possible. I foresaw the whole scene while my gut roiled. Heartfelt speech, a pat on the back, time will heal, and so forth. She’d have a good cry and either get on with work or decide to leave the campaign. If the latter...I admit, I’d be upset. Despite our rough start, she’d given her all to helping Mother get this far.</p><p>“Thank you, Mr. Solo. If we need anything else, what’s the best way to reach out?”</p><p>I handed the officer my card. I learned the woman most likely would be charged with disturbing the peace. I figured Mother may want to use her influence to make sure no maximum penalties were enforced, and when I said so the man shrugged.</p><p>“She ain’t president yet.”</p><p>“Yet,” I emphasized with a smile, and started for the nearest exit. All around, people swarmed toward the doors so I held back a moment. I reached for my vibrating phone as I waited, guessing it was Armie again.</p><p>No. A text from Chewie, requesting my presence at La Cage @ Canto.</p><p>Now.</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Rey: Shots Fired</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which the UFC isn't the only fight happening in town.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Halfway through the appetizer course, Kay looked up from her shrimp cocktail. “We’re being watched.”</p><p>“Of course we are. We look amazing.” Holdo kept her focus on her salad. “No different from any other night we’ve gone out to dinner.”</p><p>“You wear modesty well, my friend,” I told Holdo, but I had to agree. We were, as the kids might say, banging. Rose, in particular, glowed in the bodice-hugging dress selected for her Vegas debut as a newly single woman. Like the rest of us, she wore her hair up. The look nicely set off the thin chain with the open heart charm around her neck. Holdo and I had the same necklace, our bridesmaid gifts from Kay after we were sat.</p><p>Kay pulled a bite of shrimp from its red tail. “It’s a bit unsettling. It’s not like an appreciative double-take. This guy is staring like he’s about to pounce.”</p><p>“Trade places with me, then,” Holdo offered. They sat opposite each other. “I’ll stare him back down and he’ll leave us alone.”</p><p>“Kay, there’s no cause to worry. It’s not like back home. Something shiny will draw his attention, I’m sure.” As our plates were cleared, though, I used the distraction to inspect our surroundings. This restaurant on Canto’s property wasn’t the five-star, reserve a table a year in advance type, but it was formal enough to allow four women like us a special night out. Not the kind of place I’d expect to see men on the prowl.</p><p>Of course, this being Vegas, what did I know of the protocol? I assumed Kay’s target was seated at the bar, and as I scanned the bodies leaning against it I recognized one rather tall, rather intimidating friend of the Solo family at the far corner, sipping from a hi-ball glass. Club soda, I presumed. I’d ask Ben later if he put Chewie up to this clandestine guard, but I had a feeling the man took the job on himself.</p><p>With Leia Organa’s nomination a sure thing -- in my mind, anyway -- the Secret Service took over. I guessed poor Chewie wanted something to do, and wasn’t the type to not work.</p><p>Along with our entrees came a second martini for Rose. “Did I order another? I don’t remember.” She’d insisted on saving up the hard drinking for the show tonight.</p><p>“This is from the gentleman at the bar,” the waiter said, setting a folded note by her plate, “and so is this.”</p><p>Rose opened it to reveal a room number and a question mark. “Good lord,” she said, and nudged Kay. “Who did you say was looking over here?”</p><p>“He’s gone,” Kay said, and her mouth puckered. “He’s got some balls, huh? Didn’t even leave you his name.”</p><p>“Like he’d have given you his real one,” Holdo said, and cut her fork into her fish. “So, you gonna hook up?”</p><p>“What?” Rose laughed and balled up the note. “Are you kidding? I’m not going up to some stranger’s room. What if he’s up there waiting for me to show up so he can bonk me on the head?”</p><p>“I don’t think that will happen, Rose,” I said. “He’s probably a guy looking for a good time and...was looking at you.”</p><p>“Yeah. Why me?” Rose lifted the gift drink but set it back down without sipping. “Of all of us here.”</p><p>Holdo pointed her fork at Kay’s head. “Well, Kay’s wearing a paper tiara that says <em>Bride</em>, so it’s clear she’s taken.”</p><p>“And Holdo’s perpetual resting ‘don’t mess with me’ face is a deterrent, no doubt,” Kay shot, earning a smirk from our friend.</p><p>“That leaves me, and I’m famous now, remember?” I cut into my <em>filet mignon</em>. “He won’t risk an attempt to bonk me on the head if there’s paparazzi around.”</p><p>“I’m serious. This is how women get kidnapped and trafficked. You only have to let your guard down for a second. I’m not drinking this.” Rose shook her head.</p><p>“You don’t have to, and don’t worry. We got your back,” Holdo said.</p><p><em>Chewie, too</em>, I wanted to say. I glanced back at the bar to find him still hiding in plain sight, as much as a man taller and more hirsute than Ben could, anyway. Eventually we managed to calm Rose down and enjoy the rest of dinner. As we finished dessert, though, there came another interruption.</p><p>Mr. Threepio appeared at our table, bowing with niceties and best wishes for our evening. He then handed me an envelope. “I’ve been asked to deliver this to you,” he said and backed away with a polite nod.</p><p>Holdo scooped up the last of her cheesecake. “Ben can’t text you like a regular person anymore? He has to pass notes like high school.”</p><p>“I think it’s sweet. A note is personal,” Kay said, “and handwriting conveys things a text can’t.”</p><p>I didn’t miss Rose checking her phone at this. I wondered if Finn had reached out to her since our arrival, or if Rose hoped for that. Her poker expression made it difficult to discern.</p><p>“It’s not from Ben,” I said, holding up the envelope’s contents. Four tickets to Phasma’s show, along with a message requesting to meet afterward and discuss that photo session. What spies she had tracking his every move must have caught sight of us. That the passes were for a skybox wasn’t lost on me, either. It was probably the very one where Ben had previewed the concert.</p><p>I handed the tickets to Kay. “The concert starts in thirty minutes.”</p><p>“We’re going to La Cage tonight. I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks.” Kay pushed the tickets away. “Are you actually suggesting we go to this instead?”</p><p>“Not really. Just putting out the option. I’d rather go to La Cage, too.” I stuffed the tickets in my bag. “Technically, we could do both, since our seats for La Cage are for the late show.”</p><p>“You said you weren’t interested in working for Phasma, anyway,” Rose said. “Why make things awkward?”</p><p>“Wait what?”</p><p>Forks clattered to plates. All eyes turned to me. It felt like that, like the entire restaurant had hushed to hear better what I had to say. It’s not what happened, of course, but maybe my last drink had heightened my perception and paranoia.</p><p>I remembered that only Rose knew of Phasma reaching out to me about photographing her magazine spread. Nobody at the table knew of her using ill-gotten sex tape footage of her and Ben as part of her act. It wasn’t for me to share that information, for one, and the fewer people aware of it, the better.</p><p>Much as the idea of coming face-to-face with Ben’s former squeeze turned me off, an inkling for danger nettled deep inside me, curious to see how a meeting might go down. If Phasma admitted she wanted Ben back...tough.</p><p>I summarized my first and only conversation with Phasma, as much as I remembered. Holdo suggested I take the job, if only for the opportunity to charge her four times my going rate.</p><p>“I refuse to put a price on that kind of stress,” I told her. “Taking photos while some pop star plays mind games and fishes for information that’s none of her business.”</p><p>“Or, you use the time to put the woman in her place, which is deep in the past,” Holdo said. “Maybe she gets the hint and moves on to her next victim.”</p><p>Kay was staring at me with a sharp smile. “What?”</p><p>“This is more than just an affair to you now.” It wasn’t a question. “You sound too protective of your relationship with Ben for this to be a fling.”</p><p>I looked right at Kay and held up my martini glass. Holdo and Rose did the same -- Rose with her own -- as I said, “Kay, I know I’ve said many times that I’m happy for you and Beau.”</p><p>She flushed and bowed her head.</p><p>“I think I’d like that for myself, too. It feels good to say it out loud.”</p><p>“No,” Holdo muttered.</p><p>“You don’t believe I can’t have a career and a man? Who else should I wait for?” I asked her.</p><p>She thought for a moment, then shrugged. “You’re right. You could do worse. You have done worse, and apparently so has Ben. If you leave him, though, you mind if I give him a call?”</p><p>“You hold your breath until that day comes.”</p><p>We toasted on that and drank, ready for the next adventure, to begin later at a drag revue just steps from here.</p><p>***</p><p>La Cage @ Canto turned out a bit different than I had anticipated. It looked lush, of course, with its cozy tables illuminated by elegant candle centerpieces. Deep red velvet curtains rippled over a stage lined with bright round footlights, hiding what promised to be a top-notch show. Though an elegant drag hostess in an auburn flip wig escorted us to our table on the floor, no others handled food and drink service. Instead, patrons’ needs were seen to by shirtless male waiters in tight black pants. Ours was a handsome six-pack named Ryan.</p><p>Kay hid behind her drink menu. “I told Beau there wouldn’t be any naked men.”</p><p>“They’re waiters, Kay, and we saw more skin at the pool. This is not cheating, for glob’s sake.” I pointed to one of their signature drinks. “Let’s start with a round of these.” The Indoor S’more was a shot of honey rye mixed with marshmallow syrup and chocolate bitters, topped with a toasted homemade marshmallow. Everybody agreed it sounded worthy enough of our two-drink minimum, and as we finished the second round a queen who matched Ben’s description of the infamous Maybelline glided toward us.</p><p>“What’s this, a blushing bride-to-be?” She tipped Kay’s chin upward with impossibly long nails. “Honey, we’ll get a brighter color on those cheeks yet. Ryan!” Maybelline snapped her fingers. “Roll the cart out here, honey.”</p><p>Where other tables had ordered tableside guacamole and similar appetizers, the top of Ryan’s drink cart was bare. “What makes those Indoor S’mores so irresistibly smoky is the added touch we give it. This round’s on me, and my boy here,” she said.</p><p>Ryan lay across the cart like a manly buffet, and Maybelline lined up four hi-ball glasses from breastbone to navel and proceeded to mix our drinks. Kay’s muttered, “Oh lords” were soon drowned out by rising approval of our neighbors.</p><p>“Hold still, hon, this is the tricky part.” Maybelline topped each drink with a giant square marshmallow, then picked up a butane torch to toast them to a golden brown. “Last boy of mine who twitched,” she joked, “I have to do up his eyebrows now.”</p><p>Ryan earned his applause, and soon had other tables waving them over for the same tableside service. Not before Holdo slipped a ten down his waistband.</p><p>“Hey, what about me?” Maybelline pouted. The bill I gave her found its way down her cleavage.</p><p>“This reminds me,” Holdo said, “there’s a sushi place somewhere on the Strip where they serve an entire dinner on a naked person --”</p><p>Kay immediately vetoed the idea. The heat from her face alone could have roasted an entire bag of Stay-Puft. “You all are terrible.”</p><p>Rose tipped her glass at her. “No, terrible would be if we had drinks mixed right in our mouths.”</p><p>"Maybe the next round,” Holdo said.</p><p>The house lights flickered, signaling the show’s impending start. Service cleared the floor and Maybelline strutted to center stage to begin the show. Rapid fire, NC-17 jokes had the whole floor in tears, and then music exploded from the ceiling. Each act seemed more outrageous than their predecessor -- 80’s favorites, contemporary divas, and ageless icons gyrated and lip-synched to our enthusiastic applause. It was too loud to chat among ourselves, but every glance around my table told me we’d made the right choice for Kay’s last big night out.</p><p>Through the course of the show, the liquid S’mores kept appearing at our table...though without the human bar sideshow. Turned out a few tables had noticed Kay’s tiara and decided to send over congratulatory drinks. A nice gesture to receive from strangers, but by the fifth or so drink the marshmallows weren’t going down so well. We took to leaving in the center of the table, creating a gooey, charred centerpiece.</p><p>Maybelline took command of the stage again close to the finale, advising us that the next act may look very familiar, but we shouldn’t be confused. “Trust me, kittens,” she said with a wink, “we got the real thing tonight.”</p><p>The curtains opened to reveal a drag Phasma in thigh-high platform boots and a zebra-patterned minidress. My heart skipped at the sight; the performer didn’t wear the exaggerated makeup or hair the others had. A cursory glance might lead one to believe Phasma herself stood here to give us a show.</p><p>The second she opened her mouth, though, I relaxed. Another recorded track. Rose nudged me and gave me a sympathetic look, like she’d been fooled as well. “I guess we did get to see both shows after all,” she said over the music.</p><p>I nodded, but even though this was clearly a drag performer I felt some discomfort. Everything about Phasma triggered unease in me, and now I could add impersonators to the list. I hoped this was a one-number performance and not a mini-concert, otherwise I’d make an excuse for a lengthy ladies’ room trip.</p><p>The song ended to a swell of applause, which fake-Phasma milked into a tease for an encore. “I’d love to stay here all night with you, my lovely Phasmatics. I am so tempted, if only I didn’t have a special someone waiting backstage…”</p><p>“How is Ben?” shouted somebody closer to the stage.</p><p>“Now, now,” the performer slinked over to that table, “what makes you think it’s him? Though I suppose it makes sense to assume that. You know what they say: those who don’t remember history are bound to repeat it.” Fake-Phasma paused, winked, and added, “Now that I think of it, I could use a refresher in that course.”</p><p><em>Yuk yuk. It’s all an act</em>, I told myself. The joke landed everywhere but at our table, where my companions simply groaned. I turned away momentarily to get my card in preparation for the bill when a collective shriek cut through the act.</p><p>“What the hell are you doing?”</p><p>I knew that voice.</p><p>Holdo tapped my shoulder. “Would you look at that?”</p><p>Flanked by two nervous-looking assistants in headsets, Phasma herself charged up the far side stairs and crossed the stage. She must have come from her own show, given her sequin-covered leotard and white boots. Her skin glistened and her expression contorted with pure rage as she shouted down her mirror image. “You were sent a cease and desist. Why the fuck are you doing my act?”</p><p>She’d stunned the audience into silence. Phones lit up to record every curse, every accusation. Drag Phasma stood firm, not at all intimidated. “And you revoked it earlier today. Maybelline said I had the all-clear.”</p><p>“Maybelline didn’t hold up her end of the deal.”</p><p>The squabble raged on, with both performers fighting without acknowledging the hundred or so witnesses. I guessed neither were able to make out actual faces in the crowd because the house lights remained low, which was why I wanted to make an exit as soon as possible.</p><p>We’d snubbed the real Phasma tonight, and if an unauthorized impersonator upset her, I could only imagine how she’d react knowing we chose to come here instead of her show.</p><p>I leaned into the table. “Do we have enough cash? We need to exit gracefully and quietly, like now, and nobody’s coming for credit cards while this is happening.”</p><p>“Tickets were paid for. We’re just paying drinks and gratuity,” Rose said. Our team effort at math produced a dollar amount we were able to cover. I collected the money to give to the first waiter I saw on the way out, and one by one we stood.</p><p>“You!” shouted Phasma.</p><p>I froze.</p><p>“You,” she repeated, “with the hair. I know you.”</p><p>A spotlight passed over me -- I held my breath -- and paused on Holdo. Phasma moved away from her drag impostor and redirected her wrath. “It is you. You’re that bitch from Instagram.”</p><p>“Oh, dear,” Rose said.</p><p>Well put. That was the one word you never called my friend, especially after several rounds of whiskey shots.</p><p>Only nobody had advised Phasma of this, which was why she didn’t know to duck when a fistful of toasted marshmallow sailed into her coiffed blonde hair and dripped down into her eye.</p><p>Shots fired. Tables cleared. Knives out.</p><p>Where was Chewie when you needed him?</p>
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Ben - You Heard The Lady</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which bridal carry happens.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was originally part of a longer chapter. I decided to split it to have an update for this story. I appreciate all the feedback.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Armie met me by a bank of slot machines; far as I could tell, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Strobes flashed, machines whistled and clanged, and eyes focused on scrolling images of various lucky charms, hoping for the right ones to align and reward them. For all the noise and excited chatter, it seemed quite calm.</p><p>My friend fell into step alongside me. “What did Chewie say that you’re so anxious?”</p><p>“What does Chewie ever say?” <em>Get here now</em>, that was the jist of his text. Possible answers in my head ranged from a mild intrusion of photographers hoping to catch Rey in a compromising light to a knock-down drunken brawl. I feared the latter as something Chewie himself decided he couldn’t handle on his own.</p><p>Almost to La Cage, a brown-haired, bearded man stepped in front of us with some authority. “Mr. Solo, I’m Beaumont Kin. My fiance is with Rey Walker.”</p><p>We shook hands. Strange timing, this. “I hadn’t realized you were joining them on this trip.”</p><p>He gave a nervous laugh, audible in the din. “You and them. I...I knew they were staying in your mother’s suite and I still got nervous about her being here. I was hoping to catch you to see if you could take me to her.”</p><p>“Follow us then.” I gestured in the direction of the bar, which clearly raised a flag in his head since we weren’t headed toward the room elevators. “We may need your help.”</p><p>“Help?” Beaumont looked panicked. My mistake, and the man’s apprehension realized stronger as the club’s marquee came into view. Underneath it, a star-spangled Maybelline -- her wig askew, her hand gestures near lethal with those long fingernails -- argued with an exasperated Threepio. Despite the high pitches of people’s screams and dance music coming from the club front, I managed to pick out a few choice words from the concierge. <em>Violations</em> and <em>police</em> for two.</p><p>Maybelline caught sight of me first, all formalities gone. “Oh, Ben, praise all the gods you’re here.” Those long, painted talons clutched at my arm. “Maybe you can put a stop to this?”</p><p>Whatever it was, I doubted it, if Chewie had to call for reinforcements.</p><p>Mr. Threepio wedged his slim body between us, breaking physical contact. “Excuse me. Mr. Solo is a guest at this hotel. You do not call upon guests to negotiate mishaps at your place of business.”</p><p>Armie and Beaumont had drifted toward the club’s entrance, looking entranced by the activity within. Armie leaned back and beckoned me closer. “One hell of a mishap going on here,” he said. “This is all-out madness.”</p><p>“What?” His flippant response baffled me. Rey and her friends were in there.</p><p>He wasn’t kidding. Deep in the club, on the dining floor and stage, bodies writhed and wrestled. I heard glasses shattering and women screaming. Hands clawed at heads. A wig launched into the air. The scene played out like a movie, and with a cast this large it took a minute to center on anyone I knew.</p><p>I spotted Chewie first at far stage right. He looked like he was appraising the melee, waiting for his moment to intervene. I hoped he had a line on Rey, because I hadn’t yet.</p><p>Armie spoke directly into my ear. “So, what’s the plan?”</p><p>“KAY!” Beaumont cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted into the club. Before I could ask if he saw her, he barreled into the thick of it.</p><p>“Follow him. I’m right behind you.”</p><p>Armie gave a weary shake of his head before keening out a war cry. Me, I opted for a tentative few steps into the club to let my eyes adjust better to the scene. I watched Chewie walk purposely across the stage, his target being Rey’s friend Holdo, who was currently engaged in a slap-fight with one of two Phasma impersonators.</p><p>“What’s the best way to the stage?” I asked Maybelline. She instructed me to take a circuitous route along the back through the bar, which was not occupied at the moment.</p><p>“Can you clear the path out here? Chewie will likely bring everybody else out through the kitchen.”</p><p>“Sure thing, honey.” Maybelline glared at Threepio as though daring him to protest.</p><p>“Holdo is really giving it to your Phasma impersonator.” </p><p>“Ben,” Maybelline patted my shoulder, “that’s the real deal.”</p><p><em>Fuck me</em>. Did I even want to ask? “Here goes,” I muttered, and dove in.</p><p>The closer to the stage, I observed, the rowdier the audience. The La Cage patrons on the outer fringes -- mainly women in club wear and thick heels -- toasted and encouraged the bash like it was the show’s big finale. Those with tables up front became part of the act as they pushed forward to support their respective brawlers. I learned quickly that begging one’s pardon proved useless here. There was no bad view here, and nobody wanted to budge and lose sight of the action. I made do with the random grasping at my backside and swiping over my chest as I quickly inched to the far side of the stage.</p><p>Chewie had managed to separate Phasma and Holdo, and draped the latter over his shoulder while Phasma pounded on his back. Holdo kept scratching at her. Just below them, Beau clung to his ebullient fiance while Armie fended off a very drunk bystander with a beaded purse working a dent in his shoulder.</p><p>I tapped Beaumont and pointed him toward Chewie. “Wherever he goes, you follow.” Looking at Kay, I noticed the worry in her eyes despite her cheerful, buzzed expression. “Where’s Rey?” I asked her. “And Rose? We need to get you all out of here.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” she wailed. “But she didn’t start it.”</p><p>“Good to know.” When Kay began to cry -- out of fear, joy, intoxication, who knew? -- I worked on Armie’s problem. It basically took a minor adjustment on my part, which involved turning his assailant ninety degrees so she could whack somebody else, to free him. That achieved, we rounded a few overturned tables to the curved stairs leading to the stage.</p><p>“Ben, over there.”</p><p>We found them huddled in a corner. Rose was using part of the stage curtain to hide Rey, who lay curled on the floor. The relief on her face as we rushed close did little to assure me; I held my breath thinking it would steady my hands while I checked on her.</p><p>Rey was alert, moaning, with one eye pinched shut. Redness blooming around it provided one part of the story. She turned her face toward mine and smiled.</p><p>“Hey, boss.” I bent to slide my arms under her. “Let’s get you out of here. Tell me later.”</p><p>I understood now why Chewie hadn’t moved, and been content to remain stock still with a wriggling Holdo over one shoulder. He stood facing us, which allowed Holdo to continue taunting Phasma. She windmilled her arms in this elevated position, scratching at my ex with such passion it was scary. It provided the perfect distraction to allow us to slip away unnoticed.</p><p>Almost.</p><p>“Ben!”</p><p>Phasma’s glittering leotard bore signs of battle -- runs and tears along the breast and legs. She heaved with anger and sweat. Something sticky and charred dripped from her hair, and her eyes shot pure ice at us. She rounded on me as I held Rey tight to my body; her shoes and purse tucked in her lap as I cradled her.</p><p>“Ben,” she repeated, more pained than angry this time. “Why are you ignoring me? And what are you doing with…” she scowled, “her?”</p><p>"I'm getting her out of here, and I hope I don't hear later that you did this to her."</p><p>"So it's true. I can't believe it. You replaced me with some...nobody." Phasma's lip curled.</p><p>"Replaced?!" Not the time or place for this kind of conversation. The melee stifled me, and this atmosphere hardly helped Rey's condition. What kept me rooted, however, was the pain in Phasma's eyes that spoke of rejection. I had to convince myself it was really delusion in disguise.</p><p>Rey then lifted her head. The red around her eye had deepened. “Excuse me. I'm not nobody. I'm a professional photographer having an affair with the son of our next president. Do you mind?” she shouted, just before collapsing against me.</p><p>Armie walked past with Rose tucked in one arm. “You heard the lady.”</p><p>That broke the spell. I took the distraction as my cue to escape and leave Phasma sputtering in rage.</p><p>I kept my focus on the ground ahead, forging through the crowd to the main entrance. A second crowd gathered at the entrance to check out the action while Mr. Threepio directed a pair of buff security detail to manage the swelling movement.</p><p>He caught sight of me and hurried over. “Mr. Solo, the police are on their way. I will escort you to the elevators myself.”</p><p>“I’m headed for the nearest taxi.”</p><p>Crowd chatter rose the moment I carried Rey into the casino. People held phones high, calling my name, asking after Rey. <em>Who is that? Is that Rey Walker? What about Phasma?</em> I bowed my head against hers and watched Mr. Threepio tap one of the guards to join us.</p><p>“This way, Mr. Solo.” He directed us to where Dad and I first entered the resort. The guard hung back to block the door; my heavy breathing in the long hallway replaced the crowd noise.</p><p>Two manned airport shuttles idled on the curb of the VIP entrance. Mr. Threepio shooed the driver out of the front one and stood back to let me carry Rey to the first row. I wasn’t expecting the man himself to enter and take the driver’s seat.</p><p>“What’s happening?” Rey groaned.</p><p>“I got you, boss.” I held her next to me and checked her bad eye. She wasn’t bleeding. “Did you hit your head? Do you think you might have a concussion?”</p><p>“No, no.” Her eyes remained closed. Her voice still slurred, and I guessed that came from the drink I smelled on her. “What about everybody else?”</p><p>“Chewie’s got ‘em, they’ll be fine. Who hit you, do you remember?” My heart panged, expecting Phasma's name. Heaven help her if that was so.</p><p>"Holdo threw a big blob of toasted marshmallow at her. The table cleared right after that. I didn't see who got me, it was just a random thing." She laughed. "Holdo, you can't rein her in when she gets mad. The rest of us were trying to stay out of the way."</p><p>"Smart." I looked up to Mr. Threepio appraising us through the rear-view mirror. His bright eyes were wide with worry and fear. “Can you get us to the airport?”</p><p>“Where do you plan to go at this hour, Mr. Solo?”</p><p><em>None of your damn business</em>. Something in the man’s voice kept me from snapping back, though. In the midst of chaos, Mr. Threepio came across as a man incapable of losing his cool. It wouldn’t be to my advantage to needle him.</p><p>“A safe place,” I said finally. “It’s better for my family that we lay low.”</p><p>“Very good, Mr. Solo.” He took out his phone. “May I suggest an alternative to McCarran? You were seen leaving this hotel, and it stands to reason the media is already there awaiting your arrival, if they haven’t gone ahead to the nearest hospital thinking you are headed there.”</p><p>“Surely you’re not planning to drive us across state lines?”</p><p>He raised an eyebrow. <em>Drive you where, exactly?</em> his expression asked.</p><p>I looked down at Rey in my arms. She’d fallen asleep, and even with the bad eye she looked beautiful.</p><p>We couldn't go back to the rooms. Our leaving would upset Mother, but our staying stood to take her head out of the game. She had to focus on the election and I had to distance myself. We were past the point of shielding this mess from the public. I thought of only one place to lay low until the furor subsided.</p><p>Also, I had to trust this man. What stopped him from handing us over to the police and press? Neither Rey nor I started the brawl, but people were bound to link us to Phasma's involvement in it.</p><p>"Let me assure you," he said, "that I am here to help."</p><p>I gave Mr. Threepio my intended destination and he made a call. “Don’t worry about a thing, Mr. Solo,” he said after ringing off. “Your friends will not be involved in any investigations connected to tonight’s incident. I’ll see to that.”</p><p>He grabbed the ham radio clipped to the sun visor and instructed the other car to act as decoy and head for the hospital. Then he steered us onto a back road and into the night. Sirens sounded behind us and I pictured an entire fleet of law enforcement descending upon Canto Bight to clear up the mess.</p><p>“Call me Ben,” I told him.</p>
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<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Ben - Aches on a Plane</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which our battered lovers flee.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy Holidays! I'm off work until the New Year. My plan is to eat candy and write Reylo for the rest of the month.</p><p>If you haven't seen it yet, I did up a holiday-themed one shot called "When Nice Met Naughty," and I hope to have another short up soon, a prompt I couldn't ignore. :-)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>We arrived at a small executive airport on the outskirts of the city. Mr. Threepio bypassed the parking lot and drove us straight to a lighted hangar, parking near a Cessna corporate jet. A short figure stood in its shadow; an open door offered a peek into the modest cabin.</p><p>Rey leaned against me, half asleep. “We home yet?”</p><p>“Not quite.” I gathered her up as Mr. Threepio stepped outside to give us space to exit. “This can’t be compliments of the hotel,” I told him, thinking of what credit cards in my wallet could cover such an expense.</p><p>My answer came in a gentle lift of one shoulder, a passive shrug indicating a reluctance to speak further. Nonetheless, he offered, “It is, and it isn’t. If I may impart something I’ve learned in my years as a concierge to the world’s elite, Mr. Solo, it’s that some situations progress smoothly when no questions are asked.”</p><p>Fine. I’d play along for now. I wanted a nap and Rey felt heavy in my arms. “May I least ask to whom I will be entrusting our lives for the next few hours?”</p><p>“BeBe.”</p><p>The young woman by the plane approached and nodded a greeting. “BeBe is ex-military, an excellent pilot who has chauffeured many VIP guests from all corners of the country. She’s logged your flight plan, so you are set.”</p><p>“Thank you.” I moved to set Rey’s feet to the ground so I could reach into my pocket, but Mr. Threepio must have guessed what was coming.</p><p>“Mr. Solo, that’s not necessary.”</p><p>“I can’t not pay you back in some way,” I said.</p><p>“You already have, if indirectly.” The man smiled, one side of his mouth quirked higher than the other, and turned back to the shuttle. “Safe travels.”</p><p>“What does that --?” I left the rest unasked, remembering his admonition about questions. I would have liked an answer to that one, though, so I could react accordingly when I eventually learned what I did to earn this generous favor.</p><p>Was it enough?</p><p>***</p><p>Despite the smooth flight, I barely slept. I envied Rey, sprawled comfortably across two seats with her head in my lap. I used the time dividing my attention between the window and her sleeping form, idly brushing her hair from her face. I preferred the former because every time I looked down at her bruised eye it triggered thoughts of the fracas at La Cage.</p><p>Who gave Rey the shiner remained a mystery. Given the number of phones focused on the stage, somebody may have uploaded the evidence online, yet that presented a catch-22. The second I turned on my phone, the screen was certain to fill with texts and missed call notices and accusations.</p><p>We couldn’t hide forever. We’d be lucky to make it to our destination without a tail. At least I’d remembered to turn off all location tracking on my phone before leaving Canto Bight. Mother would have had Armie go through my laptop for a trace. Dad would tell her not to worry because I’m a grown-ass human, albeit one who’s shirking his work responsibilities, and then she’d bite his head off for talking trash about her son, and I wanted them both out of my head before they caused it to explode.</p><p>Could we hide forever? I’d get a nose job, fake ID, cut my hair…</p><p>Rey stirred against my thigh. No blaming her there; it must have felt like sleeping on a rock the way I tensed up. She woke and sat up. “This doesn’t feel like the room.”</p><p>“We’re on a plane. How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Like hell.” Her good eye opened wide and she looked around. “Is it just us then? Are we fugitives?”</p><p>“I really appreciate you not freaking out about this.”</p><p>Rey smiled. “The past few weeks have been anything but ordinary. Why should this shock me? At least we’re not covered in blood.” She glanced down at her dress, which had remained mostly intact, then held out her right hand. “Sorry, I was checking for a ring.”</p><p>“No ring. I did find this in my room.” I took the gold chain bracelet from my pocket. “Did any of you lose it?”</p><p>Rey shook her head slowly. “It isn’t mine, and I don’t recall any of the girls wearing it. Then again, the whole night’s been a blur.”</p><p>“It’s small enough, it could be somebody else’s. Maid service, a previous guest.” I pocketed the jewelry. “I promise you, the only thing I’ve done without your consent was put you on the shuttle and this plane. That was mostly for our protection.”</p><p>“The convention, Ben. Your mother needs you.”</p><p>“My team is more than capable of seeing her to the end. Ackbar conceded the race, anyway. It’s all over but for her acceptance speech.” I admit, it sucked not to be there to witness it, but Mother and Maz didn’t need what drama I’d bring to the stage distracting the public. She had Dad, and he’d be more in the public eye than me come election time.</p><p>"Over?" Rey huffed out a laugh. "This is the beginning. She still has to beat Palpatine."</p><p>“I'm not running away for good."</p><p>"Never said you were. We have to get home eventually, though." She stretched and yawned. "You left your friend's car. Hope it didn't get towed."</p><p>"I’m just glad you weren’t hurt seriously,” I said. “I can’t help but feel responsible in some way.”</p><p>“No, I think Phasma had a beef with the club using an impersonator. She noticed Holdo first, and that started the brawl. I saw Chewie at dinner, and lurking around La Cage. Am I right to assume he performed the heavy lifting in getting us out of there?” She fished in her purse for a compact. “I’ll take your smile to mean yes.”</p><p>“It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s waiting for us when we land.”</p><p>Rey cringed at her reflection and snapped the mirror shut. “Where are we going? I don’t have a passport, and I can’t imagine a wind-up toy like this will get us far.”</p><p>I pointed toward the window, and she turned just as the illuminated Space Needle came into view.</p><p>“Well,” she said, “I hear they have good coffee.”</p><p>***</p><p>We agreed to keep our phones off until we properly rested and decompressed. That we’d both experienced near assaults on separate public stages (near for me, anyway) at roughly the same time left us on edge. Rey wasn’t worried about her friends, but she still had misgivings about me abandoning the campaign. I assured her of the backup plan set up long before this moment.</p><p>“Jacen has the keys to the castle, all the social passwords and access to the cameras. He’ll be fine.”</p><p>“Jaina, too, I suppose.”</p><p>I bit my lip there. I chose to save news of Jaina’s little outburst for another time. My deathbed, preferably.</p><p>We landed not at SEA-TAC, but a smaller airport north of Bainbridge Island, our eventual destination assuming all things divine allowed it. BeBe the pilot took us down smoothly and taxied to a stop near an open hangar by a small parking lot. Without a word, she refused the cash tip I tried to give her and saluted us off the plane.</p><p>“Not a very busy airport at night,” Rey marked. She checked her watch, then remembered we didn’t have to adjust the time. “Now what?” She asked as she slipped on her shoes. We started toward what looked like the main building.</p><p>Mr. Threepio had gotten us this far, and I had no clue if he arranged for ground transportation. Just as the thought came, though, a flash of headlights in the distance signaled somebody’s approach. It turned out to be a fuel truck, here to fill up BeBe’s ride.</p><p>“I guess I’ll have to turn my phone on and hope there’s an Uber close.” Of course, I spoke the intention into existence just as a second pair of headlights flashed in our direction. It wasn’t a taxi but a dark SUV rounding the lot to stop in front of us.</p><p>The tinted driver’s side window slid down to reveal the bearded, grouchy countenance I’d expected to see in Vegas.</p><p>We stared at my Uncle Luke for a moment before I got out the word. “How…?”</p><p>“Got a call from an old friend. Said you might need a ride.” He stared hard at Rey for a moment before speaking again. “Tell me you didn’t do that to her.”</p><p>“No! Why the hell would you ask that?” I barked.</p><p>Uncle Luke shrugged. “It’s an election year. Brings out the worst in people.” To Rey, “I hope the other person looks worse.”</p><p>“She wasn’t too happy when we left,” she said.</p><p>“Atta girl.” He quirked his head, indicating for us to get in. “You know, Ben, you should plan these things better.”</p><p>I helped Rey into the back before taking shotgun. “Chewie didn’t know we were coming. He’s not that good.”</p><p>“Did I say I talked to Chewie?” Uncle Luke hit the gas harder than necessary and we the SUV jerked back to life. “There was a reason your mother chose Canto Bight for her little junket. Can you guess why?”</p><p>“They have a cool drag show,” I said.</p><p>“View from the roof is rather nice,” Rey said.</p><p>Heh.</p><p>“Mr. Threepio used to work for your grandfather. The biological one, that is.” Uncle Luke fixed his gaze on the road. “He’d made a promise to help out the family whenever possible, so the second he put you on that Tonka toy back there he gave me a call. So,” he side-eyed me, “from whom are we hiding?”</p><p>“America.”</p><p>He shot a quick glance in Rey’s direction. “Blink twice with your good eye if you’re here against your will.”</p><p>“Are you kidding?” she laughed. “I have to see this to the end. I could dine out on this story for the rest of my life.”</p><p>“You’re aware of what you’re getting into, with this family?”</p><p>“Dude,” I muttered, then realized something. “Should you be driving with a concussion?”</p><p>“What?” We stopped at a light. My uncle’s face bore an expression of sweet, forced innocence.</p><p>“You son of a bitch. You lied to Mom about that accident.”</p><p>He shook his head. “I didn’t lie. I merely exaggerated the extent of my injuries to avoid the potential for embarrassment.”</p><p>“What embarrassment? You’ve given speeches before.”</p><p>“Yeah. To like, high school graduations,” he said, and drove on. “I got nervous, is all.”</p><p>“I had to cover for you.” I slouched, folding my arms. “One of our staff had to tackle a rabid fan.”</p><p>“What?” This from Rey in the back.</p><p>“I saw it on TV. You weren’t in any danger,” Uncle Luke scoffed. “I’m sure Chewie could have taken her.”</p><p>“Chewie was tackling drag queens back at the hotel.”</p><p>“He was not,” Rey said. “He was breaking up a fight between my friend and your ex.”</p><p>Uncle Luke held up his hand to silence us. “She talking about who I think she’s talking about?” He glanced back at Rey again. “We don’t speak her name in the house, so you know. And I hope she came out of your scuffle looking worse.”</p><p>Rey turned her attention to the passing night. “Don’t worry. I’m glad to be far away from all that.”</p><p>Nobody spoke for a while after that, not until the SUV neared a residential area I didn’t recognize. “Did you move?”</p><p>“No. I’m still on the boat. You can’t think I was taking you there? There’s no room, and I figure somebody will stake it out for a glimpse of you kids. You want to hide from America, you have to go where they won’t look.”</p><p>Apparently, America wouldn’t be looking at an older, inland home which showed a cottage-like face to the road. It had the look of a home one visited during the holidays in a Hallmark movie. Streetlights shone down on a bright blue exterior, screened-in porch, and what I guessed was a tabby cat prowling the stone-bordered landscape of flowers. Rolling into the driveway, I saw the house was deceptively large, with a two-car garage and second-floor space making up the back wing. It was probably a later addition to the home, but it was hidden from the main road.</p><p>One of the garage doors opened to reveal wood-paneled walls and hooks holding up everything you’d expect to find in a garage, plus a tent and a pair of folded light umbrellas that gave Rey cause to lean forward.</p><p>“Are you a photographer?” she asked my uncle.</p><p>“No, she is.” He pointed to the opening back door. A tall, red-haired woman in black sweatpants and a blue tank top descended two steps to the floor and waved to us on her way to the washer. She was loading towels when I helped Rey out.</p><p>“Oh, you poor dears.” She glared at my uncle. “Please tell me you came to a full stop before you picked them up.”</p><p>“Hey, she was like that when I got there.” Uncle Luke held up his hands.</p><p>The woman closed the space between us, looking more at Rey than anyone else. In the brighter light, I noticed she was more mature, but likely not near my uncle’s age. She hovered her hand for a moment over Rey’s bad eye, asking if she hurt.</p><p>“You’re Mara Jade.” Rey spoke with breathless awe. She put a hand to her mouth and her eyes widened. “I’ve studied your work for years.”</p><p>The woman smiled and held her hand out to Rey, then me. “Yes, and you are Rey Walker. Ray Hause speaks so well of you, and of course I’m impressed by your online portfolio. You, Ben Solo,” she regarded me, one eyebrow raising, “well, a picture is definitely worth a thousand words.”</p><p>I heated with embarrassment, probably for the first time over any mention of those photos.</p><p>Uncle Luke wedged himself between us and Mara. “Remember me?”</p><p>Mara folded her arms and nodded. “I suppose you told them all about me on the drive over. I’m guessing not, judging by this young man’s baffled expression that I now see runs on the Skywalker side.” Mara gestured for us to follow. “Either of you hungry? No? Come on. You two look dead on your feet. Let’s find something for that eye and then you settled.”</p><p>Rey moved first, still a bit starstruck on meeting an idol in such a casual environment. Uncle Luke hung back a bit as though hoping our current state of exhaustion might preclude a third degree. Curiosity is also a Skywalker trait.</p><p>“Mother’s never mentioned her before,” I said, leaning close. “But I suppose one can’t discuss what one doesn’t know.”</p><p>He said nothing.</p><p>“Is she why you reneged on the convention?” If true, I couldn’t blame him. “You could have brought her along.”</p><p>“I can also impale myself on one of my foils. What’s your point?”</p><p>Nerve, struck. “Why are you so testy?” I asked. “You’re not the one who got socked in the eye by a drag queen, or jumped by a horny fan.”</p><p>“Ben, you know I like my privacy. It’s one thing when you have a close relative running for president and the interest in that interferes with your work. You two, and your recent exploits, you’re worse than Harry and Megan right now.” He sauntered toward the door, listened for a second, then closed it. “I’m thinking at best you two have a day before the media sniffs you out. Mara doesn’t have a problem hosting you because she’s an amazing and generous person, and though she is a public figure in her industry it’s not fair to suck her into the family circus like this.”</p><p>“Is it serious between the two of you?”</p><p>Luke gave a small smile. “She is the calm in my storm, and this current weather pattern concerns me.”</p><p>“I will find another place where Rey and I can regroup. We aren’t here to cause trouble.”</p><p>“No, you’re fine,” he groused. “It’s late and I’m tired, and I’ve already had to lie to your mother tonight.” After a beat, he added, “Well, it wasn’t a complete lie. She wanted to know if you called looking to come here. Technically, I didn’t hear it from you.”</p><p>“I appreciate it.” I pulled out my phone, but he reached out for my arm.</p><p>“I’ll text her, kid, and let her know you’re alive and not to worry. Assuming Threepio hasn’t apprised her yet.” Uncle Luke then eased me toward the door. “Come on. You’re missing the tour.”</p><p><em>Serious.</em> I got the vibe the second we ascended the short steps into the house. Though I heard voices to the right, the glint of a myriad shiny trophies deep in the living room held my attention. The interior decor of Mara Jade’s home matched the gingerbread quaintness of the outside -- shelves for walls and a cozy throw draped over every seat. The mantel over the fireplace displayed a few crystal flame trophies and my uncle’s Olympic medal. Somewhere in this house, he surely had a toothbrush.</p><p>“This way.” He tugged at my arm. “You can snoop around later.”</p><p>We caught up to them at the end of a wide hallway leading to two bedrooms. Rey had a compress in one hand. It wasn’t pressed to her face because Mara was pulling blankets from a linen closet and piling them in Rey’s arms. “Get up whenever you want,” she was saying. “Everything you need for the bathroom is stocked. If you do get hungry later on, the kitchen’s on the opposite end of the hall. I’ll leave a light on for you.”</p><p>“You’re not putting them in the same room, are you?” Uncle Luke demanded.</p><p>A look passed between them, one I imagine they’d shared for as long as...this was happening.</p><p>“They’re not married,” he added.</p><p>Mara held up her right hand, bare of jewelry. “Neither am I. How about that?” She eased past and nodded us toward the lighted room with the queen bed and blue floral wallpaper. “Rey, there’s ibuprofen in the bathroom medicine cabinet if you need it. Tomorrow I’ll give you a heat mask for that eye, but the ice should get the swelling down for now.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Rey said, and disappeared into the room.</p><p>Mara patted my shoulder. “Get some rest.”</p><p>“You’re aware of what you’re getting into, with this family?” I asked.</p><p>“See you in the morning,” she said sweetly, then with a twinge of acid directed at my uncle, “we’ll be upstairs.”</p><p>“Good night. You, too, Uncle Luke,” I said.</p><p>“‘Night, Uncle Luke,” Rey sang from inside our room.</p><p>He shuffled backward behind his lady friend, rolling his eyes.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Rey - Allez!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which the author hopes her Wikipedia knowledge of fencing holds up.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you happen to fence and are reading this, please forgive any terminology errors. </p><p>Thanks for all your comments. They are much appreciated.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I awoke with an urgent need to relieve and then cover myself. I’d bitten my tongue when Mara loaded me down with all those blankets, but now I was grateful to have them. We hadn’t jumped time zones, but summer in Washington State greatly differed from Vegas in terms of temperature.</p><p>Either that, or Mara preferred to keep her home like an icebox.</p><p>I was so focused on getting to the bathroom that it wasn’t until I dried my hands that I realized I’d woken up alone. I certainly hadn’t gone to bed that way; once Mara and Luke had retired, Ben and I stripped down to our skin and collapsed under the sheets.</p><p>Last night’s suit remained a puddle on the floor, even the dress shoes. A man would only get so far in just his socks, so I took my time showering. When a knock sounded on the bathroom door I was about to invite him in until Mara’s voice rang over the spray.</p><p>“I laid out some fresh clothes. Hopefully something fits. Coffee’s waiting for you.”</p><p>“Thank you,” I called back. Ben likely received similar hospitality from his uncle, though with their disparate heights… I pictured Ben in too-short pants about to bulge out of them like the Hulk, a nice contrast to the loose waist of the jeans Mara left for me.</p><p>I found Mara dressed in dark leggings and a long cable-knit sweater, sitting alone in her sunny breakfast nook. No evidence of the men, not even an abandoned coffee mug. She rose when I caught her attention and grabbed an oven mitt hanging from a cabinet. “How’s the eye?”</p><p>“It doesn’t hurt. The cold helped, I think.” Seeing my eye in better light this morning, I was relieved that my actual eye wasn’t red from injury. Whoever hit me chucked my upper cheekbone, albeit with enough force to leave a mark.</p><p>“I have a salve that will help get the blood moving and bring down the color. And this,” she held up a small water mask we’d microwave later. Mara watched me look around the kitchen and added, “Luke got him up early. I’ll drive us over there in a bit. How do you like your coffee?”</p><p>“Black’s fine, thanks.” It still struck me as surreal that a woman whose career I’d followed for years -- glob, somebody I aspired to be one day -- was pouring me coffee and shooing me into a chair for breakfast. All through my master’s work at Hoth, Mara’s ghost lingered. She may not be the school’s most famous or richest alumna, but faculty and staff revered her. Ray One, for all his accolades and status, turned dreamy-eyed whenever he spoke of her. Looking back, I suppose he had a slight crush.</p><p>Here I was in her home, sipping coffee from a cat mug while she served me a small quiche.</p><p>We talked shop as I ate -- my post-graduate plans, her recent assignments, Hoth gossip. Tempted as I was to mention Phasma’s photoshoot offer, I was enjoying myself too much to darken the conversation with her name. I remembered Luke’s admonishment from last night as well, but he said nothing about approaching another topic.</p><p>“How did you meet Ben’s uncle?”</p><p>Mara held her mug close to her mouth; her smile curled above the rim. “I wasn’t aware he lived in the area. This house was my parents’. It’s been here forever, which is how I’m able to live in a nice neighborhood on the money I make. Anyway,” set down the mug, “I took a job for a local magazine’s ‘Most Influential’ issue, and Luke was on my list. First time I called, he says he’s not interested in posing, so I offered to shoot him at the club. I thought I’d get some nice pictures of him training his students.”</p><p>She paused a moment with a faraway look, drawing back a fond memory. “He said the club was closed to visitors during lessons, and I’d have to wait until there was a competition or free exhibition day. Of course he never told me when those happened.”</p><p>“With his mask on.” Ben’s uncle seemed the opposite when it came to the camera. I imagined a different scenario with Luke Skywalker coming into Ray’s studio that day.</p><p>“Exactly. Easier for me to dress up a dummy and say it was him.” Mara sighed. “I don’t know. Something about the way he kept avoiding me just pushed me to try harder. So,” another sip, “I signed up for a lesson.”</p><p>“Wow. You did get the pictures taken, right?”</p><p>“Yes, but I’d long missed the deadline that they had to go with his official Olympics portrait. I sold my photos to the AP when Leia Organa announced her candidacy.”</p><p>“Ugh. I left my camera in Vegas. We literally walked out of the hotel and flew here. Well, Ben walked.” I grabbed my phone from my back pocket. “Do I even want to turn this thing on?”</p><p>Mara patted my hand. “It’s not as bad as you’d expect. You and Ben are in the news and trends, but it’s all good. His ex, though…” Her expression soured. “Let me clean up here and we’ll drive over to the club. We’re in for a treat today.”</p><p>“Sounds great.” I used the time Mara busied herself at the sink to check messages -- surprisingly few -- and call Rose. I excused myself and went back to our guest room for my shoes, but I spotted a pair of espadrilles that fit.</p><p>Rose didn’t answer, putting Holdo on deck. “Nobody’s dead,” she said in greeting.</p><p>“Not even me?” Would the senator blame me for her son’s absence?</p><p>“I am convinced that Mr. Threepio is some kind of secret agent. He came to see the senator and everything just...poof, sunshine and roses. I thought for sure the police were going to arrest me for assault but…” I heard an audible catch in her throat. “I heard the club was cleaned up like nothing happened there.”</p><p>“He’s quite a fixer, isn’t he?”</p><p>“What’s more, Beau’s here. Did you know that?”</p><p>I didn’t, but given the brawl, President Kenobi could have walked into the club without my seeing.</p><p>“Well, don’t be upset, but Beau wants to get married today. I guess it took a drag show brawl to convince him that life is short. Get this, they’re going to do it right here in the suite! The senator’s arranging it before her speech today.”</p><p>“I’m so happy for them. I really wish I was there.”</p><p>“Don’t beat yourself up. Ben’s parents were worried, but whatever Mr. Threepio told her put them at ease.” Her voice faded a moment. “I wish you were here, you and Rose.”</p><p>“How is she?”</p><p>“You didn’t hear me? I said I wish she was here too.”</p><p>What? “Why...wouldn’t she be there? I thought she got out of La Cage with the rest of you.”</p><p>“She did. Armie was with her...and we’re thinking he still is. Somewhere.”</p><p>“I see.” This sounded odd. If Rose’s concern about that stranger sending a drink hadn’t bubbled up to the surface of my memory, I’d have assured Holdo that Rose and Armitage probably went down to the casino. Now, glob only knew.</p><p>Ben would vouch for his friend, I felt certain.</p><p>“You know what, I’m sure she’s fine. You know how she gets sometimes. She’s probably down at the pool or somewhere trying to decompress. Oh,” I remembered, “did you lose a bracelet? Ben found one in his room.”</p><p>“Is this some kind of trick question? Until now, I’ve been with you the whole time.”</p><p>I could see the smirk on my friend’s face. “Not like that. Ask around. Maybe it’s the senator’s.”</p><p>Mara rapped on the doorjamb and I told Holdo I’d text later. Then I texted Rose for her to call ASAP, and I followed Mara out to the garage to her pickup. She patted the camera bag on the console between us. “A loaner for you,” she said, “as long as you’re here. If you’re like me, you’re naked with a camera. I can relate.”</p><p>“Thank you!” The Canon I now hefted in my hands equated to about two months of my rent. It was a beautiful piece of equipment that felt natural to hold. It kept my attention so that I hadn’t realized we arrived at Luke’s fencing club until Mara spoke.</p><p>“You’ll have plenty of opportunity to use it today. Luke insisted, for once.”</p><p>“Sounds like he has something in mind,” I said.</p><p>“If so, he’s keeping it close to his chest.” Mara’s lip twisted. “He’s very good with secrets.”</p><p>I took from her tone that she herself was one, to Ben’s family. The way Ben talked about his uncle, it seemed more like a desire to guard his privacy than let people think he was embarrassed by or ashamed of Mara. “I wouldn’t mind being a secret,” I said. “I don’t Google my name for good reason.”</p><p>Mara reached over to squeeze my hand. “Believe me, people like you. And I know Luke likes a low profile, but you’d think after a year…”</p><p><em>Whoa.</em> Talk about a tight vault. “Maybe he’s waiting until after the election?” I suggested.</p><p>“There’s no hurry. To be honest, the idea of meeting her scares me to death.”</p><p>I’d said enough. If Senator Organa liked me, she’d flip easily over Mara.</p><p>The parking lot at Skywalker Fencing Club looked small for the looming gymnasium it bordered, and nearly full. Mara parked in a reserved spot near the entrance. “This used to be a community center. When they moved to an upgraded facility Luke bought the building,” she said. “Eventually he’d like to have a more formal <em>salle</em> for teaching, but this is a nice place.”</p><p>Popular, too, and I wondered if the Skywalker/Solo connection had something to do with the crowd gathered on the bleachers to watch the activity on this “free day” -- used for exhibitions to attract new students. Inside, Mara explained the purpose of the practice strips, the mirror along the far wall, and the equipment. There was so much to take in -- I hadn’t realized there were different weapons involved, and that two styles of fencing existed.</p><p>“They mainly practice the modern techniques here,” Mara said. We found two seats dead center of the action and settled in to watch three pairs of masked fencers lunge and parry and fight to score. Mara told me people of all ages came to practice, and while I couldn’t tell from the masks I knew everybody on the floor exuded grace. I sat in awe of their athleticism until a loud buzzer stopped all activity and everybody cleared the floor.</p><p>Mara nudged me, and I readied the camera. It surprised me when Luke emerged from the far locker room in his “civvies.” Two figures in full fencing gear, masks on, followed.</p><p>I looked over at Mara who held the confused expression I no doubt showed. The tallest of the trio had to be Ben. The other one had to be a star pupil of Luke’s.</p><p>Somebody handed Luke a cordless mic. “Welcome, everyone. It does me good to see so many people here on a beautiful day. Driving up here...there’s no missing the calm waters on the sound. And me missing my boat right now.”</p><p>Several heads nodded and smiled. Obviously an inside joke for the locals.</p><p>“Today I am pleased to referee a match between two amazing fencers. I know this because I taught one,” he looked between the two, “and the other taught me. You’ll have to guess who’s who.”</p><p>Luke went on with a brief explanation of the rules and scoring, during which the fencers paced and checked their equipment. Scoring was electric, and as this was a casual demo Luke explained why no line judges were present. The scoreboard fixed to the side of the gym, altered for the sport, read Home and Visitor, offering no further clues to the fencers’ identity.</p><p>Nonetheless, I readied the camera and started with a nice shot of Ben and his mystery opponent prepared to face off. They saluted each other, then Luke, and took their positions.</p><p>“<em>En-garde</em>,” called Luke. Poses struck.</p><p>“<em>Pret</em>.” Be ready.</p><p>“<em>Allez</em>!” Go!</p><p>I expected a full-on, Jack Sparrow slash and stab, but soon saw the difference between Hollywood swordplay and fencing. The gym turned quiet, with every ear in the audience listening for the <em>shing</em> of foil blades crossing and their owners grunting. A few seconds in, I was so hooked Mara had to nudge me to record it.</p><p>Ben and his opponent were nimble on their feet, sliding and bouncing back and forth along the strip. Ben lifted his foil more than once to attempt a <em>touche</em>, but his sparring partner had come to play. To score, one had to touch the other with foil in a designated area -- here being the area between the trunk and collar.</p><p>Throughout the match, whenever I lowered the camera, I fixed on Ben’s form. Who imagined a man in a fencing uniform could inspire arousal? I wasn’t the only one affected, if I could trust my ears to a pair of women behind me lusting over him...and they hadn’t seen his face.</p><p>After all the thrust and parry, clashing blades and breath held by the audience, Ben succumbed to a narrow defeat. The fencers shook hands loud applause, and when Luke wedged between they unmasked. The gentle roar filling the gym turned near chaotic when Ben and his namesake, the president, revealed themselves.</p><p>I fired off a flurry of shots, standing with the crowd when the people in front blocked my view. I looked at Mara and saw from her expression that she hadn’t expected to see President Kenobi, either.</p><p>“Thank you for coming, everyone,” Luke addressed the crowd, and pointed to a far table. “If you’re interested in joining our little club, feel free to pick up our literature. We have a few members to answer your questions.”</p><p>People dispersed into two distinct groups -- half to the table and the other drifting to the president, now surrounded by his Secret Service detail. Ben walked back with Luke toward the locker room, and Mara indicated we should follow. The president gave me a wink as we walked past, while he signed autographs. Beyond the <em>No Admittance</em> sign placed on the door, Luke was helping Ben out of his jacket.</p><p>“Get some good photos? Good.” Luke focused on freeing Ben. “Mara, there’s a flash drive by the office computer…”</p><p>Mara eased the camera bag from my shoulder. “Back in a flash then.”</p><p>Ben craned his neck to look back at his uncle. “What happened to liking your privacy? What’s going on?”</p><p>“Oh, I have it here. People know not to bother me,” Luke said. “This is not so much a surrender of privacy as it is some much-needed PR.”</p><p>“For the club?” I asked.</p><p>“The club. My sister’s campaign. My nephew’s reputation.” He didn’t react to Ben’s glare, but helped him out of the jacket. “I’m going to check on Mara and say goodbye to our guest. You can do the rest here. Keep everything PG-rated, though? It’s an all-ages facility.”</p><p>Luke dashed off and I watched Ben fiddle with another layer. “Need help?”</p><p>“Please. Old Ben gave me a workout. Uncle Luke well before that. I’ve been fencing since I got here.”</p><p>The plastron, I learned while helping remove it, served to protect Ben’s fighting arm and side. We pulled it away to reveal a white t-shirt, deliciously tight against his chest, covering his aching muscles. “There’s a zip hoodie and sweatpants in that locker. I think I can get the breeches off on my own.”</p><p>“That’s no fun.” I found a pair of tennis shoes underneath the folded clothes. “You don’t want a shower first?”</p><p>“I do, but you heard Uncle Luke.” He leered at me. “The kids might see us.”</p><p>“Are you hurt?” Ben straddled the long bench and I sat to face him. If he wanted to hide any discomfort from me he was doing a poor job of it. Ben sucked in air getting his arms through the hoodie; I straightened the zippered edges for him and let my hand linger on his chest.</p><p>“No, just sorely out of practice.” He leaned in, hooked his hands under my knees, and pulled up so that I straddled his thighs. He pressed the heels of his hands against the small of my back and kissed me. Slow and serious and tight together despite his earlier complaints. Deeper kissing clearly helped him through the pain.</p><p>“Fencing is so sexy,” I said after we broke off.</p><p>“Ben offered me a job as his PA,” he whispered. “I’d relocate to Richmond if I take it.”</p><p>“That drive isn’t so heinous.” It knocked off an hour at least to the beach. If I found work on the other side of the bridge-tunnel, though, I could move east and further close the gap. It meant splitting up with Rose, but we both knew that was an eventuality. I used to think she’d leave first, with Finn.</p><p>“You said if.”</p><p>“There’s a lot of travel involved. You saw Ben out on the strip today, he could live another twenty years and he's no homebody.” He looked away for a moment and smiled. I could tell he seemed a bit envious of the fact. “It’s a lot to think about.”</p><p>“It is. When do you let him know?”</p><p>“After the election, when his current assistant formally leaves. Plenty of time to consider it, but seeing him today reminded me of something.”</p><p>I waited. He looked into my eyes, and the background noise muted. We were the only two in the whole gym. He took my hands and I brushed the calluses with my thumbs, knowing how they felt when touched me everywhere else.</p><p>“Whether or not I accept, I realize I don’t want to have an affair anymore.”</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>“Because I love you, boss.”</p><p>I was going to cry in a gym on Bainbridge Island.</p><p>“I think I have from that first day when you hustled me out of my clothes.” He laughed. “And the next thing I want to say...damn,” he looked around the locker room, “is this going to be the story future generations hear?”</p><p>In the distance there came a light giggling that broke the spell. I looked past Ben and he turned as two school-age voyeurs filled the doorway.</p><p>“What’s so funny, huh?” Ben chided them. “Where’s your mom?”</p><p>The taller of the two blonde cherubs shyly pointed in the direction where old Ben was meeting and greeting. “You better go find her,” my Ben said. “You’re gonna miss getting your picture taken with a President. That doesn’t happen to everybody.”</p><p>A further voice called two names, capturing their attention. They disappeared, with one of them distinctly crying out, “They were kissing!”</p><p>I let go, never having laughed so hard. Ben held me tight and rubbed his lips against my ear. “I’ll omit that part when I tell it, of course.”</p><p>“Ben,” I touched my forehead to his, “I love you. Say it now, or wait if you want. I’m not going anywhere.”</p><p>“Good. Please help me to Uncle Luke’s SUV. I can’t move.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Rey - Should We Stay Or Should We Go?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Ben and Rey take a U-turn.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for all the nice feedback. We are coming close to the end; the epilogue is in draft. Hope it works.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Both vehicles arrived at Mara’s at the same time, only when the garage door opened Mara idled her truck just outside. I took out the camera bag and passed Luke as he approached. He handed me the keyless fob for his SUV. “We leave the inner door unlocked. Mara keeps the place well stocked, so there’s no reason for you to go anywhere, anyway.”</p><p>“You’re not staying?”</p><p>“We’ll be on the boat, at least through morning. I’d offer it to you guys, but,” he glanced back at Ben slowly coming around the back of his SUV, “knowing him, you’ll end up in Juneau.”</p><p>“I hate that we’re putting you out,” I said.</p><p>“Don’t be. I love my boat.” Luke winked. “And I like you. Take care of him. If he has the strength, get him to the master suite bath upstairs.” With that, he hopped into the passenger seat and Mara waved as she backed out of the driveway.</p><p>Mara had claimed not to be rich. Whatever she made, she’d put quite a bit of it into the spacious spa bathroom on the second floor. I zeroed in on the built-in garden tub, which looked long enough to accommodate all six-foot-plus of exhausted athlete. We found epsom salts in a lower cabinet, and I helped set up Ben for a long soak.</p><p>I moved aside a few bottles of shampoo and body gel and set a folded hand towel behind his head for a pillow. “Feeling better?”</p><p>“Much. How’s the eye?”</p><p>I touched the affected cheekbone. “You tell me.”</p><p>“Color’s getting better. Maybe put some heat on it.”</p><p>“Mara left me a mask.”</p><p>“Good.” He had a few inches on the tub, so he slouched under the water with his knees exposed. “I’ll be ready for a drink after this.”</p><p>“Why wait? I’ll see what Mara has.” I uncrossed my legs to stand but Ben reached out for my hand. I laced my fingers with his and held them in my lap. “We should probably discuss a few things, while I have your undivided attention,” I added.</p><p>Ben looked worried for a moment. “Like?”</p><p>“Clothes, for one. We can’t mooch the respective wardrobes of our hosts indefinitely,” I said. The sweatpants he’d borrowed from his uncle had come to mid-calf on him. They may share genes, but jeans...forget it. “You think somebody on your mother’s team could arrange to ship our luggage here?”</p><p>“Sounds like something Mr. Threepio can arrange. Seems like a waste of his talents, though.” He laughed.</p><p>“Also, how long are we staying here?” I asked. “When we leave, are we going back to the beach, or D.C.? Do we split up and go to our respective homes...oh, you left Armie’s car, so I guess we come back together. And how do we get back? It’s more expedient to fly, but what if --”</p><p>I looked down at Ben, now gently snoring.</p><p>I kissed his forehead and carefully untwined our fingers. “I’ll let you mull it over, but not too long or you’ll shrivel.”</p><p>***</p><p>Mara kept a dry house, no booze to find. Maybe we’d had plenty in Vegas; it certainly caused trouble among my friends. Instead I filched a few soda cans from the fridge and made a few PBJs. As I set for the stairs I met Ben coming down, wearing the pink bathrobe from the hook on the upstairs bathroom door.</p><p>He was on his phone, and smiled at me. “He’s fine,” he spoke to whomever -- I assumed one of his parents. “I can’t, he’s not here… I don’t know when. He’s got a life, it’s not like he has to entertain us.”</p><p>His mother. Her voice blared tinny and authoritatively from the phone. I failed to catch every word, but they made her son shake his head and sigh.</p><p>I followed him into the living room and arranged our lunch on the coffee table before settling on the couch with him. “I’ll tell him to call you, yes. What? When? Hang on.” He covered the phone and said, “Mother said our luggage was delivered.”</p><p>“I’ll check.” It took a few seconds to get my bearings, but when I opened Mara’s front door, there sat our bags plus a large parcel marked <em>Fragile</em>. I gave Ben a thumbs up from the door and he came over to help drag everything inside.</p><p>“Looks like everything, but I’ll let you know,” he said into the phone. “I don’t know. I don’t know. That’s up to her. Of course we will. Yes.” He pressed the phone to his chest and out a silent cry of rage. “Yes, Mother,” he resumed. “I love you, too. Bye.”</p><p>He dropped the phone in a pocket and snatched up his duffel. “How did the luggage know to come here? My mother still doesn’t know Mara Jade exists in the ‘shacking up with my uncle’ sense.”</p><p>Kneeling in the foyer, I picked at the clear tape that sealed the box. “My guess is when Mr. Threepio called your uncle, he gave this address for shipping. This had to be his doing, along with everything else.”</p><p>“It was. My mother thinks we’re all crammed in the boat, in case you text any of your friends. The box should have my laptop and your camera bag.”</p><p>Everything was secured with layers of bubble wrap. Much appreciated. We moved everything into our guest room, where Ben dressed in jeans and a Washington Nationals tee, then slipped the robe back on.</p><p>“What? It feels nice.” He closed the soft fabric close to his face.</p><p>“And me with my camera,” I said. “What is up to me, exactly?”</p><p>“Tomorrow is the last full day we have the suites. It’s a recovery day of sorts, to give everybody time to decompress before we go home. You and your friends were staying longer?”</p><p>We’d booked our original stay until the day after the Organa party left, but with Kay and Beau marrying today I wasn’t sure what was happening now. I wasn’t certain the senator mentioned that part to Ben.</p><p>“The hotel offered to extend the suites one more day for them. They want to know if you, at least, are going back.”</p><p>“All that space, comped?” How powerful was this Threepio person that he could do that? I needed time for an answer. I was hungry and tired just from watching Ben fence, and I wanted nothing more right now than to feel that bunny soft robe from the outside.</p><p>Ben had promised his mother to watch the convention coverage, so we snuggled on the couch and ate our lunch. I put on the heat mask, ignoring Ben’s initial reaction, then pulled the granny square blanket from a nearby chair and covered my legs. Mara’s basic cable offered few selections in the way of 24-hour news, so we chose the least biased channel and let it drone quietly in the background until something of interest aired.</p><p>That is to say, Ben showed no interest in hearing commentary over the footage of him carrying me out of La Cage. In fact, he bent his head and covered his eyes, refusing to watch it altogether. I admit I wasn’t looking my best, either, but I appreciated the end of the clip that had Mr. Threepio bringing up a hand to block the offending lens.</p><p>“It’s over,” I said. A placard showing a tweet from President Palpatine replaced it:</p><p>
  <em>What kind of fool chooses a troublemaking club girl over a dynamic personality like Phasma? You’d think Mama Organa wouldn’t welcome a no-name gold digger into the family, but maybe it’s a pattern. #LikeMotherLikeSon</em>
</p><p>Underneath the graphic on the news ticker, “President Palpatine invites Phasma to perform at next inauguration,” scrolled past.</p><p>“I hope he chokes to death on his spittle putting in his dentures,” Ben said.</p><p>“Ben, turn it up.”</p><p>The tweet faded into one of my fencing action photos. A montage began with the voice over. “Photos coming out of the Washington State area this morning with further proof of Ben Solo’s heroics. These were provided by Olympic medalist and world fencing champion Luke Skywalker, who -- as you know -- is the brother of presidential candidate Leia Organa.”</p><p>The next shot was of the three men, unmasked after the match. The bottom corner of the corner revealed my photo credit. “Skywalker had been scheduled to speak last night in Las Vegas and pulled out due to an injury. It appears his nephew stepped from one rescue to another when he hopped a late flight and assisted his uncle by fencing in his place at an exhibition.” The anchor went on about Mr. Kenobi’s narrow victory and how Luke had trained Ben from childhood.</p><p>“He saves damsels in distress and swashbuckles?” cracked the other anchor. “You sure this man isn’t a Disney prince?”</p><p>Ben muted the set again. “I wish they’d hurry up and get Mother on for her speech. This peripheral filler news gets on my nerves,” he said.</p><p>No argument from me there. Public speculation on our relationship had gotten old, and I was too preoccupied with planning my route home in my head. I considered returning to Vegas; I owed it to my friends to finish the trip. Though with Kay eloping and Rose disappeared with Armitage, what was left to do?</p><p>I felt less guilty for hiding out at Mara’s house. Holdo, naturally, took care of herself, but clearly Vegas wasn’t big enough for her and Phasma.</p><p>“Would you mind so much if I went back to Canto Bight?” I asked. “Would you come back with me?”</p><p>“Yes.” Ben didn’t hesitate. “We’ll leave today if you want.”</p><p>“We probably should have told them to leave our luggage where it was.”</p><p>“Yes, it looks better for us to herald our triumphant return in clothes that don’t fit.”</p><p>I nearly slapped his shoulder but remembered his earlier ordeal.</p><p>The sight of his mother on screen, waving amid a shower of red, white and blue streamers and confetti, silenced us. The station had cut live to the convention as the senator began her acceptance speech, flanked by Ben’s father and Chewbacca. Kay and Beau and Holdo stood to one side, Rose with Armitage on the other, alongside others on the campaign team. Nearly everyone present and accounted for, looking none the worse for wear.</p><p>“I’m sorry not to be there,” Ben said. “Mother’s worked so hard to get to this point, and I feel like I let her down.”</p><p>“You spoke to her, was she angry?”</p><p>“No, just worried. Much as I like the quiet here, it’s best we go back.”</p><p>“Yes.” I draped my arm around his waist and burrowed into his side. “We’ll be there for the inauguration, too.”</p><p>I felt his squeeze.</p><p>I watched as <em>Organa 2020</em> signs hoisted in the foreground of the stage; the crowd volume rose with every pause in the senator’s speech. When Senator Kanata emerged following her introduction the place all but exploded. Those on stage then revealed signs reading <em>Organa/Kanata 2020</em>.</p><p>“I love the new logo.”</p><p>“Yeah, Jaina did good on that.” Ben’s voice was low.</p><p>“I don’t see her onstage. Is she in the crowd recording this?”</p><p>“No, that’s Jacen’s job. I...can’t remember what I had Jaina doing today. Listen --”</p><p>A phone chimed. Instinctively we checked our own. “Huh.” Ben read out the incoming text from Mr. Threepio. “Seems his pilot friend is picking up a few high rollers in the area. She’s willing to detour and pick us up if needed.”</p><p>Was the house bugged? “How long do we have? We’re already packed.”</p><p>A followup text advised that BeBe would arrive at the nearby airport in about four hours. We’d be in Vegas for a late supper. “Let’s do it.” I sent a group text to my friends to give them fair warning while Ben alerted his uncle.</p><p>“Ha.” Ben sighed at the words scrolling up the text screen. “Uncle Luke already knows. Threepio’s trying to get him to come down with us. Either way, he said he’ll swing by half an hour before go time and take us there.</p><p>“Which,” he added as he shut off the television, “gives us about three hours to not watch the news.”</p><p>I lifted off the couch to let Ben lie back, then settled on top. Thinking the mask would kill the mood, I took it off. “I love not watching the news.”</p><p>“Me, too.”</p><p>***</p><p>We didn’t watch the news in three different positions, not counting the guest room shower. It pleased me to know those early hours of hard fencing work hadn’t affected Ben’s stamina.</p><p>I left first to dry and dress. When I heard the water crank off I leaned to one side and looked through the open doorway. Ben stood just inside the frosted glass stall, dripping wet and scrubbing his face with a washcloth. The breath left my body -- for obvious reasons -- but despite the coming time crunch this moment was too good to leave alone.</p><p>“Don’t move,” I told him, and grabbed my camera.</p><p>“What? What’s on me?” His voice bordered on panic.</p><p>“I want to take a photo. Are you okay with that?” I lined up his body in the viewfinder. His hands paused on his face, pressing the washcloth so that it muffled his voice.</p><p>“You don’t have enough naked shots of me? Wouldn’t you rather I put on pants?”</p><p>The steam cooled around us, but I managed to get some down my lungs before it faded. “This was the shot I wanted originally for my exhibit,” I said. “I mean, I didn’t know it at the time, but something that shows vulnerability...maybe a bit of imperfection.”</p><p>He slid the cloth down just enough to peer at me with WTF eyes.</p><p>“<em>That!</em> That expression, Ben. Please?”</p><p>“Fine,” came his muffled consent, and I fired off immediately before his eyes blinked. From there I got in several more before I let him dry off.</p><p>“These are different,” I insisted. “You’re smiling in nearly all of them.”</p><p>“Yeah, they’re good.” He watched the panel as I scrolled through the photos. “These are for your private collection, then?”</p><p>“I’d crop them if I ever got an offer.”</p><p>He kissed the top of my head. “You’re a photographer. This is your livelihood. Do what you wish, I’m happy to be part of it.”</p><p>“<em>Playgirl</em> folded a few years back.”</p><p>“Well, damn,” Ben said.</p><p>***</p><p>Mara arriving with Luke was the first clue. The extra bags in the back of the SUV confirmed it.</p><p>Ben took the seat directly behind his uncle. “You didn’t seem so sure earlier. What changed your mind?”</p><p>“Let’s just say I was made an offer I couldn’t refuse.” The look he shared with Mara before putting the SUV into gear promised some levity on the trip. Idle chatter kept us occupied until we arrived at the airport. Luke found an extended stay space and we met BeBe at the plane. Voices from inside alerted us to the other passengers, and Ben grabbed my bag to let me on first.</p><p>Two gentlemen sat in the back row, their heads together in conference. We made enough noise to alert them, and when one spoke they had my full attention.</p><p>“Rey? Is that you?”</p><p>“Finn?” Not exactly the person I’d expect to see on this flight.</p><p>Holding hands with another man.</p>
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<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Ben - Whoa</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which a reckoning happens.</p><p>CW: mention of planned sexual assault</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They focused on Rey’s bad eye. Then Finn glanced at me.</p><p>“I didn’t do it,” I said.</p><p>He blinked, then, “Oh, no, man. We saw the news. It’s just...well, it’s different seeing it up close. Are you all right, Rey?”</p><p>“I’m fine. My pride took a greater beating, I think.” Rey moved back to give me the window and she sat next to me to chat with Finn across the narrow aisle. His companion had since let go of Finn’s hand and rested it on his lap, looking patient.</p><p>Finn must have caught my curious glance, directed at his friend. “Oh,” he turned and gestured, “Rey, Ben, this is Poe Dameron. Poe is the CEO of my company.”</p><p>Poe waved, giving a weak smile. “Despite running an outfitters chain, I’ll warn you I’m not the best passenger. I’m better on planes when I pilot them,” he said. “So if I should nod off, it’s not you.”</p><p>Rey in turn introduced my uncle and Mara, both of whom saluted from a front row and huddled together. As it was looking to be a quiet flight, I leaned back myself for takeoff and let Rey reconnect with her friend. Through patches of consciousness as I drifted between light sleep and simply keeping my eyes shut, I listened in.</p><p>"So you're a high roller now?"</p><p>"He is. I'm along for the ride, and the buffets."</p><p>“I see. You hold hands with your boss. That’s for his nerves, yes?”</p><p>“I suppose it’s too obvious to hide, huh?”</p><p>“Have you talked to Rose?”</p><p>“She knows, Rey. She’s known for a while, before you all left for Vegas. I guess she’s kept it to herself.”</p><p>“Well, we’ve had a lot happen. She might have been waiting for a lull.” Rey laughed. “Though, I’m a bit concerned for her. We saw on TV earlier, but Holdo mentioned she’d disappeared with a mutual acquaintance for a while.”</p><p><em>Wait, what?</em> That woke me up. “Who? Who did Rose disappear with?”</p><p>I’m not sure what grabbed me more in that moment, the thoughts in my hand or the wide-eyed worry Rey suddenly radiated. “Uh, Armie?” she answered, as though trying to assure herself that her friend wasn’t in any danger.</p><p>“Who’s Armie?” Finn asked.</p><p>“Give me your phone, please?” I asked. “Wait, we’re in a plane. Shit.”</p><p>“Why are you freaking out?” Rey asked.</p><p>“Who’s Armie?” Finn repeated with urgency.</p><p>“Ben’s friend,” Rey said. “Senator Organa’s speechwriter.”</p><p>“So he’s cool, right?”</p><p>“He can be,” I said.</p><p>“You don’t sound sure of it,” Finn said.</p><p>“Let’s just say Armitage is a...people person. Mainly cishet women...people.” I shrugged. “And bi, I guess.”</p><p>“Gone to Vegas after a breakup, looking for adventure,” Finn finished, shaking his head. “I asked you to keep an eye out for her, and you run off to Seattle.”</p><p>“Bainbridge,” Uncle Luke called from the front.</p><p>“Whatever.”</p><p>“There’s a difference,” he added.</p><p>Rey turned on her friend. “You asked Ben to watch over Rose? What century is this? Rose can take care of herself. Honestly, this whole notion that a woman requires a male savior…”</p><p>She looked between us. “What?”</p><p>“Rey, I legit watched news footage of this man bridal carrying you from a riot at a drag club,” Finn said. “Anywhere in the course of that event, did you ask Ben to put you down?”</p><p>I turned back to my window, biting my lip.</p><p>“That was--”</p><p>“Different,” said every man on the plane.</p><p>“You all leave her alone,” Mara admonished.</p><p>Rey quietly took her heat mask out of her purse, laid it over her eyes, and leaned back to nap. Finn shot me a smile before settling back with his companion. The exchange had worn me out as well, and I drifted off. Before I knew it, the touch of wheels on a runway alerted us to our arrival.</p><p>Mr. Threepio met us beside a Canto Bight shuttle, reserving the warmest greeting for my uncle. “The senator will be most pleased to see you.” Though he seemed to be looking at Mara when he said that.</p><p>Once aboard, I bugged Rey again. “Phone, please.”</p><p>“How about you tell me who to call?”</p><p>“Ask Holdo if she’s seen a tie hanging from a doorknob.”</p><p>In the dim of the shuttle’s long cab, Rey’s bewildered expression shone clear. “Really? He’d put a tie on his door in full view of your parents.”</p><p>“Trust me, they know to heed it.”</p><p>Rey shook her head and punched out the text. After a minute she read the reply. “She says no, but there is a scarf.”</p><p>“What color?”</p><p>Tap tap tap. “Red.”</p><p>“Whoa.”</p><p>Rey looked up. “What’s whoa?”</p><p>How to answer that? At worst, Rose might not return my friend’s feelings, and leave Vegas feeling satisfied that she’d sowed some oats. At best, the long parade of Washington interns marching through my apartment was about to disperse.</p><p>“Whoa,” Rey said again, only this time her attention fixed on the passing light show of the Strip.</p><p>“Yeah, it’s something, isn’t it?”</p><p>“No, Ben, look.” She pointed to the long digital billboard jutting out from our hotel. “Phasma’s billboard.”</p><p>Finn leaned across the aisle. “No, that’s Taylor Swift. I didn’t know she was performing here.”</p><p>Sure enough, where a corseted Phasma once welcomed visitors to Canto Bight, now Taylor Swift in a bright red dress with lipstick to match waved to drivers.</p><p>“Neither did I,” Rey said and looked at me. However, I was looking straight ahead at the windshield, rather the rear view mirror at the calm yet piercing eyes of the driver appraising me back.</p><p>***</p><p>It took my father and myself to free Mara from Mother’s bear hug. I thought the poor woman’s eyes would pop out of her head.</p><p>“Leia, let the woman breathe,” said Dad.</p><p>“You!” Her attention, rather her wrath, turned on Uncle Luke. “How dare you keep this from me? When were you planning to say something, after the inauguration?”</p><p>“First or second?” Han asked.</p><p>Too much was happening in the suites to keep track. Different conversations carried through the air and collected into a low, steady din. Rey had gravitated toward Holdo and Kay and Beau, and Rose was talking animatedly with Finn’s new guy, so everything seemed cool there. Chewie, as usual, hung back and soaked it all in like a sponge.</p><p>I found the red scarf, knot still tied in a loop, lying on the floor and brought it to the kitchenette and its owner. Armie was fixing two drinks and I stuffed it in his pocket.</p><p>“Talk,” I demanded.</p><p>“I haven’t slept with her.”</p><p>Strangely enough, I believed him.</p><p>“I’d like to,” he added, “and I think the feeling’s mutual. I don’t expect it to happen on this trip.”</p><p>“How...What....?”</p><p>Armie cracked open a can of club soda. “After you and Rey flew the coop I got Rose out of the club. She wanted some air, so we took a back exit and walked to a timesaver for ginger ale to help her sober up. It was nice out, nobody bothering us, and we ended up walking up and down the Strip, talking. We came back to my room to continue the conversation. I didn’t want to be disturbed so we used the scarf. It was nice.”</p><p>“So you’re aware, if Rose ever says it’s not nice anymore there’s a line of people waiting to beat the shit out of you.”</p><p>“I know. I’ve seen half of them fight.” Armie looked me in the eye. “What you said you wanted, before the speech, about finding a quiet place to connect with your lady? It sounded like something I might want, too.”</p><p>“Yeah, but you just met --”</p><p>He silenced me with a look and a jerk of his head in Rey’s direction.</p><p>Right.</p><p>I watched Armie join Rose’s group and hand her the drink, right about the time Chewie came forward to tap my mother’s shoulder. “Right,” she said, and excused herself and Dad. “Ben, I need you and Rey for a short while. Everybody else, we’re ordering in.”</p><p>No more words on why or what; my parents hustled me and Rey into the elevator and said nothing further until we reached the level below the lobby floor. The doors opened to a carpeted basement hallway bordered with multiple doors.</p><p>“What’s happening, seriously?” Rey asked.</p><p>“Either we’ve been invited to a secret VIP poker game or we’re robbing the casino,” I said. “Is Lando standing by in a laundry truck?”</p><p>“Save the jokes, kid.” Dad surged ahead and we followed him to the last door on the left. A quick two knocks opened the door to reveal Mr. Threepio flanked by two very large crewcut goons. Rey squeezed my hand hard and I wished we at least had Chewie here to even things out.</p><p>The windowless room held a long table surrounded with metal chairs, at the end of which Phasma sat with Jaina, of all people, and a man I recognized as Phasma's manager. At the opposite end sat a large, balding man in a black t-shirt and linen pants.</p><p>Jaina in this group was perplexing, but the sight of my ex had me backtracking. Mr. Threepio insisted I stay.</p><p>“We have quite a bit to cover here...Ben,” he said, tripping up a bit with the casual address. “Your input regarding the fate of several parties is critical.”</p><p>“Fate?” I stared down Phasma, who wouldn’t meet my eye. Jaina, appearing chastened, hung her head. “This is about the riot? You want to talk to Rey and her friends.”</p><p>“May we sit down?” Leia asked. We grouped together near the stranger. Nobody wanted to sit on the other side. “Let’s give Mr. Threepio the floor here.”</p><p>“Senator.” He bowed and rounded the table to stand in between us. “In my years with Canto Bight, I have held every employee, third-party tenant, and contracted entertainer to the highest standards. Scandal is no stranger to this town, but I won’t allow it here.</p><p>“Last night, we terminated Phasma’s concert residency on the basis of breach of contract,” he continued. “All advanced ticket sales are in the process of being refunded or transferred to replacement acts we have scheduled through what would have been the last date. Per our agreement, Phasma forfeits any monies that would have been earned on the cancelled shows, including ticket and merchandise sales.”</p><p>“And we will appeal this in court,” her manager said.</p><p>“And you will lose,” Mr. Threepio said coolly.</p><p>“How did she breach the contract?” I asked.</p><p>Mr. Threepio beckoned with his right hand, and one of the goons handed him a manila envelope, from which he pulled a sheaf of papers. “Phasma Scyre, performing professionally under her first name, disregarded the morals clause in our contract, which states, ‘the performer, during tenure as a featured entertainer, shall not commit any acts considered immoral, obscene, illegal, and/or deceptive, or else engage in behavior designed to injure, damage, and otherwise put in a negative light the Canto Bight Resort and Casino brand, its retail and hospitality tenants, and/or its guests and staff.’”</p><p>“Isn’t her whole act obscene?” Dad muttered. Phasma shot him a murderous glance.</p><p>“So...the fight she started at La Cage.” I said.</p><p>“I believe somebody in the senator’s party fired the first shot,” said Phasma’s manager.</p><p>“Well, Phasma looked determined to finish it,” Rey said, defensively.</p><p>“None of it would’ve happened if you’d reined in your client.” This came from the balding man.</p><p>“My client had every right to stop that show. La Cage @ Canto breached an agreement with Phasma when they resumed showcasing an impersonator.”</p><p>“Agreement?” the man huffed. “Try blackmail, and we fulfilled that damned agreement.”</p><p>“Excuse me,” Dad broke in. “Should we know who this guy is?”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Mr. Solo.” The man stood and politely nodded. “I realize I look very different since we last met.”</p><p>All the while, I heard the voice and struggled to place it. One look at the man’s round face and cheeky smile triggered my brain. “Maybelline?”</p><p>He held up his hands. “In the flesh. You can call me Bib.”</p><p>“This agreement to which Mr. Fortuna is referring was not authorized by the resort, and it involved a number of Canto Bight employees and outside retailers as well, the ones her team was able to intimidate,” Mr. Threepio. “It would appear Phasma took it upon herself to recruit spies to watch various members of your party, Senator, in particular your son...and eventually his companion, Ms. Walker.”</p><p>Rey held up her hand. “But you delivered those tickets and the note to us at dinner the other night.”</p><p>“I intercepted the envelope, Ms. Walker, from an employee away from his station. I only delivered it when I was certain it contained nothing defamatory. On interviewing said employee, I learned somebody from Phasma’s camp was leaning on him to perform menial tasks beyond his job description.” Mr. Threepio sighed. “My staff is not at your beck and call,” he said to Phasma.</p><p>“You gave me a note from her, too,” I said, looking at her. Not one facial tic or feature to indicate remorse. “When I first got here.”</p><p>“Another interception, though I’m afraid I removed something from it first to save you some humiliation.” Mr. Threepio pulled from the envelope a plastic baggie containing a photograph. Mother turned away from it, embarrassed. It was a still shot of that quasi-porn video Phasma ran during her rehearsal.</p><p>I held out my hand to take the photo. Had I seen it when I was supposed to, I may have taken Phasma up on her offer. The multiple “spies” were likely added insurance in case somebody didn’t come through.</p><p>I looked at Maybelline. Bib. “When you handed me that arena pass, you knew I was going to see this.”</p><p>“Yes and no,” Bib admitted. “Phasma wanted you at the rehearsal, but I didn’t know why. When you turned the other corner I called her assistant to alert them. You were being watched the rest of the way up.”</p><p>“Fulfilling the so-called agreement.” I glanced at Phasma’s blustering manager, who looked ready to bolt. “All this intrigue so you can have a drag impersonator in your show?”</p><p>“So I can keep my liquor license.” Bib paled. “Look, I might as well come clean. I wasn’t a hundred percent honest on my application. I...I have a felony conviction in California, which was a completely trumped up charge,” he added quickly. “Bunch of rednecks tore up the bar I patronized so I retaliated, and then I had to stand in front of a conservative judge and take the heat.</p><p>“Anyway,” he continued, “Phasma found out somehow and threatened to have my license revoked if I didn’t play ball.” Bib then apologized profusely and added, “I am totally phone banking for you through November,” to Mother.</p><p>“Well, it’s nice to see the puzzle pieces coming together,” Dad said, “but why is Jaina sitting with this crook? She works for my wife’s campaign.”</p><p>“You mean Phasma’s sister?” Mr. Threepio asked.</p><p>“What?!” I think we all said it at the same time.</p><p>Another hand gesture. The other goon brought over a long paper bag, like one for toting wine. Mr. Threepio produced a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to pull out a half-full glass Coke bottle, which he set on the table.</p><p>“Mr. Solo...that is, Ben, do you recognize this?”</p><p>“It’s a Mexican Coke bottle. I drink that brand almost exclusively; they don’t use high fructose corn syrup.”</p><p>“This one, we’ve learned, was tampered with,” Mr. Threepio said, and left it at that.</p><p>“You mean drugs?” Mother asked.</p><p>Rey leaned close to me. “When did you last drink Coke here?”</p><p>“At the convention.” I looked at my mother. “We split that bottle, then I went to the suites because Rey arrived.”</p><p>“I never drank my share, Ben. I put that bottle back in the mini fridge. That’s why nothing happened to me. You were knocked out for hours.”</p><p>“Yeah, but I was fine right after I drank my half. Rey and I --” made love on the roof “-- were talking with old Ben and everybody else for a bit before I passed out.”</p><p>“Maybe it’s a time release drug,” Dad suggested.</p><p>“Maybe,” I reached into my pocket for the bracelet, “this belongs to one of you. It was in my room.”</p><p>Jaina gasped. Bingo.</p><p>“Maybe you were trying to hurt my son!” Mother shouted at Jaina. “You’re the one who found the bottle opener and opened it for me. Everybody knew Ben drank those sodas. Did you drug him? What kind of sick bullshit did you two have planned?”</p><p>“I never intended to hurt him,” Jaina said. Phasma tugged at her to stay quiet but Jaina jerked away. “You leave me alone. It's your fault.”</p><p>All this time, Phasma remained quiet. I presumed it came on the order of her manager. She still wouldn’t look me in the eye.</p><p>“Phas,” I leaned over the table, gripping the edges. “What was the plan?”</p><p>Finally, our gazes locked. No words, just pure ice in her eyes.</p><p>“I was supposed to take pictures,” Jaina spoke up. “I followed you from the arena and waited until the suites cleared, and I was supposed to bring Phasma in. We were going to...stage photos of you...in bed with Phas.”</p><p>“Our suite elevators have security cameras,” Dad said.</p><p>“We bribed a maid for a uniform. When Armie and Chewie left, it was just me up there with you.” Jaina looked at me with glassy eyes. “And I couldn’t do it. She had me spying on you and reporting everything back…” She shook her head. “She said if she couldn’t have you back she’d at least break the two of you up by making Rey believe you’d slept with Phas in Vegas.”</p><p>Mother reached for my arm. “You were out cold and I blew it off as exhaustion.”</p><p>“You didn’t know, Mother.”</p><p>“You could have had a reaction to the drug and died. Never mind photos. These women could have raped you up there.” She was about to go full mama bear. I scooted my chair back, but Mother managed to rein in her fury. She addressed Threepio, “You have enough to take to the police?”</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>“Do it. I want these bitches in jail.”</p>
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<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Ben - Deus Ex Machina</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which we inch closer to the HEA.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Phas stood. Then Mother stood. The rest of us followed at the same time.</p><p>My ex had a good foot’s height on my mother, but given the opportunity to bet on the UFC title, I was backing family.</p><p>Phas clenched her fists and turned on Mr. Threepio. “You told me if I cooperated there wouldn’t be an arrest. I’ve conceded to the termination --”</p><p>“Phasma, don’t, we can fight this,” her manager began.</p><p>“Shut up!” she barked. “You've seen everything he's collected. He could ruin my career and my life. I’m not going back to jail again.”</p><p>“Again?” A record <em>and</em> a surprise relative. Did I ever know her?</p><p>“And you won’t.” The man attempted to appease her with a hand to her shoulder, which she shrugged off. “If you’ll let me handle this.”</p><p>“What I need is my lawyer.”</p><p>“You’ll need first aid,” Mother threatened, and turned to Dad. “Get Chewie down here.”</p><p>Rey nudged me, but I saw she was actually hiding behind me.</p><p>“Senator, please,” Mr. Threepio said in a calm voice that brought down the tension. “You know I’m not one to come into a situation without a plan.” As the room quieted he replaced the photo and bottle into their respective containers and Goon One collected them. “What you’ve seen here doesn’t scratch the surface of all the evidence collected on you and your accomplices,” he told Phas. “And all of it will remain out of sight,” up came the hand, and Goon Two brought another envelope, “with one simple concession.”</p><p>He produced two sheets of paper, one for Phas and one for Jaina. As Phas read one I asked to see the other. It was a very short contract which stated that the undersigned agreed never to contact, harass, and/or defame anyone on the list of the people mentioned, in exchange for secrets kept. My name topped the list, along with Rey, her friends, my parents, Maybelline/Bib, and others.</p><p>Rey read along with me. “Is this legal? Can he do this?”</p><p>"That's it?" Dad nearly shouted. "She signs a pinky promise and walks? What the --"</p><p>Mother shushed us all. "Please? I trust this man."</p><p>All the while, Phas signed hers with a flourish and slapped down the pen. “Done. And I don’t fucking care about the money we lost here. I’ll make it back somewhere else,” she said to her hyperventilating manager. She snatched up her jacket and purse and started for the door. “Goodbye forever, future President and family. Try not to tank our economy. I have to make a living, too.”</p><p>I still held Jaina’s contract. “Mr. Threepio, I think I should have something to sign as well.”</p><p>Phas had her hand on the doorknob but didn’t turn it.</p><p>“I don’t understand, Mr. Solo.”</p><p>All eyes on me. I took a deep breath. “You’re giving us peace of mind, and I feel it ought to go both ways. I want Phas and Jaina to know that I will not harass or defame them, either.”</p><p>Phas’s hand dropped from the knob.</p><p>“That’s way more than they deserve, son,” Dad said. “They’ve broken any number of laws and they’re going to walk out of here and resume their lives.” He looked down at Mother. "Not one minute ago you wanted them in jail, and now you trust a signature?"</p><p>"I still want them in jail, Han, but like I said I trust this man," she said. "What would it look like for a woman running for president to have people tossed in jail?"</p><p>"You'd look like a badass, hon." Dad's face paled. "Good lord, Threepio has something on you, too, doesn't he?"</p><p>Mr. Threepio cleared his throat.</p><p>“Dad," I cut in, "these people know that if they step out of line again it’s over. How many passes were you given in <em>your</em> career?”</p><p>Dad said nothing. Uh-huh.</p><p>“I’m walking out of here, too. So is Rey. But Phas is right, though. She has to work. Jaina will need a job, too, because she is obviously no longer employed with the campaign.” I saw her tears form at that. “What they tried to do to me was shitty, but I don't want vengeance. I don’t want to be the one to keep them from ever working again.”</p><p>“It is more than they deserve,” Mother said, “but we’re talking about assault, Ben. Why should you sign an agreement? You were drugged.”</p><p>“And Jaina stopped it before it got too far. They could have kept going. They could have ruined Rey’s career, too."</p><p>"Luke wouldn't let us say Phas's name out loud,” Rey said, and turned to Phas. "Mara Jade photographed you in the past. I wonder if you tried to get her cancelled for whatever reason."</p><p>Phas looked away again.</p><p>I looked from Jaina and Phas. “I can't speak for my uncle or Mara, or my parents, but I forgive you both.”</p><p>The stunned silence lasted a few seconds before Mr. Threepio spoke up. “I suppose I can have something drawn up if you’re willing to wait a few minutes.” The hand came up but Phas broke in.</p><p>“No, it’s fine. Whatever he wants to draft and sign, he can send it to me through my agency. I’ve never had a reason to not trust his word.” That’s when she met my gaze and nodded. “Thank you, Ben. I’m sorry,” she said, and left the room. Her manager stormed out behind her.</p><p>Jaina stood to leave as well, but I asked her to stay behind. “Could you give the two of us a minute?” I squeezed Rey’s hand in silent assurance that she’d know later. She nodded and, with everybody else, filed out of the room.</p><p>I sat next to Jaina. She jittered like a rabbit ready to evade a predator’s maw. “At the convention, when I said I knew about the photo, I was referring to Rey’s portrait that you were using as phone wallpaper. Armie spotted it.”</p><p>Her face turned red.</p><p>“But you assumed I meant something else, I’m thinking,” I said. “Could you open your phone to the gallery?”</p><p>She hesitated, which confirmed my suspicion that Mr. Threepio didn’t possess every shred of evidence. After a beat she surrendered the phone to me.</p><p>“Why didn’t you erase this?” I pulled up the photo of me, unconscious and nearly naked, lying in my hotel bed.</p><p>“People keep souvenirs of their crimes, don’t they?” Jaina wrung her hands. “Phas never acknowledges me unless she wants something. She bribed me to take my mother’s maiden name so nobody will think we’re related. She’s worked for years to build up this persona, to bury the past and be a role model for girls...did she ever offer to introduce you to family?”</p><p>“She told me she was an orphan.”</p><p>Jaina huffed. “My mother lives in Florida. Phas is embarrassed by our whole white trash childhood. She had no choice but to take this residency because she needed the money; she’s always paying off people from our past to keep their mouths shut.” She swiped at her face. “You wanted to know why she dumped you for somebody rich, now you know.”</p><p>“I’m sorry.” I meant it. Assuming this was true, she’d been dealt some shitty cards. I had no intention of welcoming Jaina back into the fold, though. She had to earn her trust elsewhere.</p><p>She took back her phone and deleted the photo, then found Rey’s portrait and removed that one. “It wasn’t right of me to have that while I worked for you,” she said, then took Phas’s pen and signed the agreement. “I do want you to know I genuinely loved working for your mother, and I did nothing to sabotage the campaign.”</p><p>“That woman you tackled...she wasn’t part of this?”</p><p>Jaina shook her head, smiling. “No, just a random woman crazy about Ben Solo. There are quite a few of them out there. Better keep an eye out.” She stood and added with a parting glance, “You and Rey look so happy together. I hope you make it.”</p><p>She passed Rey leaving the room. “Everything good?” Rey asked.</p><p>“Yeah. It’s just...weird.”</p><p>“That’s an understatement.”</p><p>“I mean, me and Phas,” I said. “Our breakup was bad, and after everything that happened this week I figured it would end with one of us being pitched off the roof like in <em>Die Hard</em>.”</p><p>I beckoned her closer and she ended up in my lap. “Anyway, it’s better now. Except you look like somebody tried to show you the Ark of the Covenant.”</p><p>“Almost. Did you know Mr. Threepio <em>owns</em> this hotel?”</p><p>No fucking way. “How is that poss --” No. No questions asked. “You know, after this week that news makes the most sense. I’ll accept it.”</p><p>“Well, he's actually part of a consortium that owns it. I decided to come in here when he and your mother got very deep into conversation. It’s best I don’t know everything.”</p><p>“Are they okay?” From the widening crack of the open door, I saw Maybelline/Bib laughing with relief.</p><p>“Your mother told Bib she’d pardon him if she’s elected.”</p><p>Fingers crossed. “I suppose that takes care of everybody, except you.”</p><p>“How’s that?” Rey asked.</p><p>I held her tighter. “I wasn’t thinking of how you’d react when I forgave Phas and Jaina.”</p><p>“I was thinking of how wonderful you are.” She kissed my forehead. “And how much I loved you for it.”</p><p>“I didn’t want to propose marriage to you in the locker room of my uncle’s club because I didn’t think it was romantic enough. What do you think of a casino basement?”</p><p>Rey held up her finger to silence me, then walked to the door. “We’ll catch up to you all later,” she told everybody waiting outside. Then she locked us in.</p><p>She turned around and smiled. “Ask me that again.”</p>
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<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Rey - Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which our happy couple stays happy.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Update 1-20-2021: I've just watched the Inauguration and noticed VP Harris went first. The continuity error below will stand for dramatic purposes. Please forgive it.</p><p> </p><p>If you've gotten this far, thank you for being a friend.</p><p>I have enjoyed this story; hope you have as well. I'm a bit sad to see it end, but it's given me the opportunity to start a new story. "Entwined" is coming soon.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>January 20th</em>
</p><p>“I, Leia Amidala Organa, do solemnly swear…”</p><p>I’d never seen so many people in one place in my entire life. So quiet, too. If not for Ben’s mother’s voice echoing through the city, I could hear a pin drop among this breathless crowd.</p><p>“...that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States…”</p><p>I stood, frozen to the platform, pressed so hard against Ben that I’d come out his other side with enough pressure. The ceremony was short, yes, but the hours-long buildup to it left me exhausted. I sensed Ben ready to drop as well, but with the entire country watching we didn’t dare.</p><p>“...and will to the best of my ability…”</p><p>One would think President Organa had enjoyed a full night’s sleep before this; she looked so refreshed. Like us, however, she’d been up all last night trying to come down from the excitement. Ben told me more than once that the drive to do her best for her country kept Leia active and young, and here was the proof. I watched the First  Gentleman shivering in his coat, and attempt to stifle a yawn.</p><p>We all had to do better to keep up.</p><p>“...preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.”</p><p>So help her. The Chief Justice said his congratulations to Madame President and Washington erupted in cheers. Next thing I knew, I was swept up in a series of familial embraces -- my fiance, my future in-laws, Chewie. All the while, as their love shielded me from the winter cold, I wanted to pinch myself.</p><p>In a few months I’d officially join the First Family, close to the first year’s anniversary of the day Ben and I met. How did I get from haranguing a total stranger out of his clothes for a graduate project to standing here, next to my mother-in-law, the President?</p><p>In that moment, the memory of that odd, charming Mr. Threepio came to mind. Long after we departed Vegas last summer, I pondered his existence and thought it unbelievable. Today, I believed I had him beat.</p><p>Ben put his arm around me just as Maz Kanata stepped forward to be sworn in as Vice-President. “How are you holding up, boss?”</p><p>“Never better,” I said.</p><p>***</p><p>One by one, everybody texted me their mirror selfies. Their gowns looked fabulous, though Ben insisted none were a match for the one I’d chosen. The President would be wearing a beautiful bronze A-line, and I’d gone in a different direction with a strapless, emerald green sheath. My selfie received the reciprocal amount of likes, which pleased me, and I went into the living room to wait for Ben.</p><p>Armie’s old room served as my studio and private space, whenever I required a moment to decompress. Not long after moving in -- rather, trading places with Armie as he ended up in my old place with Rose to work remotely -- an offer to teach photography at a nearby parochial school came available. Though teaching hadn’t been part of my long term plans, it warmed me to see so many girls interested in a class, and forming a club. I figured the job would work while I built up my freelance business.</p><p>Ben turned down President Kenobi, who understood the reasoning behind it. “It’s just as well,” he’d said. “I truly require somebody who can keep up with me.” The next day he hired Holdo. </p><p>Shortly after the election, Ben was getting worried about finding work. It’s not to say the headhunters weren’t lurking, though. CNN sought him to host a news show. Congressman Antilles asked him to manage his reelection campaign. One night after a bad movie marathon at home he contemplated monetizing a podcast.</p><p>“What would you talk about?”</p><p>He shrugged. “My life. It’s certainly not boring.”</p><p>Just for grins, we recorded a “pilot” and sent it out to the world. Ben figured if a hundred people listened and never returned, at least he tried. Turned out one of those listeners worked for the Smithsonian, and she reached out to book Ben for a lecture tying his fencing experience to dueling in the Revolutionary and Post-Revolutionary eras.</p><p>He drew a standing room only crowd. They continued to create reasons for him to show up for things, and now he works there. Which was what he wanted all along.</p><p>A familiar three-tone knock sounded at the door. Chewie, cleaned up in a sharp black suit, held out two Styrofoam boxes with our dinner. Ben and I had learned after the convention that as an adult child of a President, he had the option to decline Secret Service protection, and he did. Chewie more than sufficed.</p><p>“Are you not coming in to eat at least?” I asked. He held up his own bag, saluted, and pulled the door shut. “Fair enough.” I had the rest of my life to figure him out.</p><p>Ben came out of the bedroom, his tuxedo not quite assembled. Pants on, shirt unbuttoned, freestyle tie draped over one shoulder. “He didn’t stay?”</p><p>I popped upon one container and tore off some of the cheese arepa. Bless Chewie, he found some. “I guess we’re not allowed to see him eat? There’s so much to learn about this family.”</p><p>“Should have read the handbook.” He took a napkin from the counter and tucked it down my cleavage. “How good are you with bowties?”</p><p>“You can’t tie it? You can do your other ones?”</p><p>Ben reached for the arepa box. “I skipped that class. It’s like calculus. I didn’t think it would come up in real life.”</p><p>“Well, I’m mad skilled with clip-ons. That,” I pointed to the strip of green to match my dress, “we’ll need a Youtube tutorial for.”</p><p>He groaned and, on finding the remote, was about to switch off from the news I’d muted but instead turned up the volume.</p><p>“One person not expected to attend or perform at any of the inaugural balls in Washington tonight is multi-platinum pop singer Phasma,” intoned an anchor’s voice over recent concert footage. Here, she was dressed more conservatively than in her videos. “En route to Tokyo to kick off her world tour, Phasma detoured in Dubai last night for a special VIP performance.”</p><p>There followed a shot of her last Instagram post, her standing in the foreground of the Burj Al Arab. “She did, however, send her regards to the new First Family via social media. Her latest Instagram post reads in part, 'With my American Phasmatics in spirit today as we welcome a new administration. Best wishes to President Organa.'”</p><p>He shut the TV off before the inevitable mention of him and looked at me. “Maybe nobody will notice I’m not wearing it.”</p><p>“Maybe Chewie knows how to tie it.” If he couldn’t do that, were our lives one big lie?</p><p>Ben smiled. “Maybe we don’t go.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>He took my hands, his gaze panning hungrily up and down my dress. “Something about that particular shade of green. It reminds me of that little toy you bought in Vegas that we never got to try out.” He pulled me close and into his arms. “Whatever happened to it?”</p><p>“You mean that plug with the four-leaf clover base?” I raised up on my feet and whispered into his ear, “The one I have in right now?”</p><p>"What?" His hands settled on my backside. “Maybe you’re teasing. Maybe I should check.” Ben didn’t give me time to at least remove the napkin. Up and over his shoulder I went, into the bedroom where I landed on my back across our bed. We kissed hard as he worked down my dress zipper, stopping only briefly to roll me over on top.</p><p>"I love you," he said.</p><p>"I love you back."</p><p>He slipped his hand under my panties and stopped when he found it. He took hold of the clover-shaped base and twisted it inside me. “Maybe I’ll text Chewie to go on without us,” he said.</p><p>I started working on his fly. “Maybe you should.”</p><p> </p><p>THE END</p>
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